Inseverable Fates
by Anthony Devon
Summary: Sequel to Descent into Darkness ...The Wizarding world is in flux. After the fall of Voldemort, bold enemies and unlikely allies arise from the ashes, each carving paths towards their own ends. But when a most improbable alliance reaps an unexpected triumph, a new threat emerges. Hermione now finds herself doubting her own path and desires. Nothing can ever be truly forgotten.
1. Chapter 1 - An Unlikely Captive

_And it continues ... However, there is one aspect that I have not yet decided. So I shall put it to a vote of a sort. This story is essentially completely original, as canon is now complete. That being said, there is that whole "Epilogue" from the canon books issue. Some like to ignore the epilogue and consider the final chapter, the end of canon. Others like to include it. I have already decided that "The Cursed Child" will not be considered canon in regards to this story. Mostly because, for a Harry Potter story, it had very little Harry Potter and way too much of the mother of all plot hole devices ... Time travel._

 _But as the readers, I would like to know if you would like this story to include the Epilogue or ignore it. Essentially, will this continuation of Hermione and Killian simply have to deal with Hermione and Ron being together, or will it have to deal with Hermione and Ron also having children? I have the outline for both scenarios, but cannot decide. So if anyone would like to add their thoughts, please leave a comment/review._

 _But I digress ... Moving on ... Chapter One for Inseverable Fates is up and ready to go. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter One -_

 _An Unlikely Captive_

It had been fourteen years since Lord Voldemort met his end in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Fourteen years since a prophecy about a young boy, marked as an equal by his enemy, came to a swift and determinate fruition. Fourteen years since the wizarding community breathed a collective sigh of relief, having survived a second long and bloody civil war. And fourteen years since Hermione's life took a turn that forever changed her future—a future that had always been just short of everything she ever wanted.

 _Hermione Weasley_. Even now, after all these years, it seemed foreign and surreal to her. She had kept her maiden name within her work for the Ministry. It was a name she had strived to make respectable. Regardless, she was now a Weasley. _Hermione Granger_ was nothing more than an organization of stenciled letters on a nameplate sitting proudly on her desk in the office for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Words. Words and memories of a life once lived.

"I'll be heading out then," said a man as he passed by Hermione's office. "Will you be much longer?"

"Not much," Hermione lied. "Goodnight, Winston."

"Goodnight, Ms. Granger," Winston said with a tip of his hat as he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

In truth, Hermione had no intentions of leaving anytime soon. She had work to do. She always had work to do. This night was no different. At least, that is what she attempted to convince herself.

The world had changed. With Voldemort's defeat, the line between good and evil became a blur. Allies and enemies; it was nearly impossible to tell the difference. The angelic lamb could very well hide a motivation driven by treachery and deception, while the ominous individual lurking in the shadows could prove your most valued friend.

A perfect example lay with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Against all perceivable odds, they now worked together as Aurors for the Ministry. Partners, as it were. If someone had said to Hermione that Harry and Draco could spend more than a moment together without going at each other's throats, let alone work in tandem, she would have believed that person to be mad. Yet, there they were. And although their relationship appeared merely business, lacking any notable social bond, with Draco still tossing the occasional barb when the opportunity arose, its mere existence rebelled against any logical definition of normal.

Recently, Harry and Draco made headlines in the Dailey Prophet when they tracked down and arrested a significantly noteworthy criminal within the wizarding world. This enemy of the Ministry, like many others, blurred the line. A simple step in one direction or the other could easily alter a person's standings in the eyes of the law when one wanders through the middle gray. But in these times, there could be no exceptions. You were with the Ministry or you were against it. There was no middle ground. And as much as Hermione detested such a standard, she was bound by her duty.

Realizing that she had put it off for as long as she could, she closed up her books, filed her papers, and extinguished the candles on her desk. Before she made her way to the door, she carefully returned the Croniker of Life she had been staring at for the last thirty minutes or so to its proper place upon the shelf, the sanguine fluids contained within continuing on in an endless dance of avoidance. Then, with a heavily contemplative sigh, she exited, closing the door behind her.

Once outside her office, Hermione heard Harry and Draco engaged in conversation at the end of the hall. Nothing riled, excited, or even generally elevated in tone. Just talking as individuals do on a daily basis when coming in contact with one another. Such an occurrence should not be considered out of the ordinary. And, in truth, it was not out of the ordinary. With Harry and Draco, such and exchange had become the norm, which somehow made it all the more impossibly bizarre.

The two former bitter rivals were standing by the door of a disused storage room that had been converted into a temporary holding cell. To date, it had scarcely been used. While the cell was both efficient and practical in terms of accessibility for Aurors who worked within the Ministry itself, the system for handling detainees had become so incredibly streamlined in recent years, having such an area of containment had become almost obsolete. Most often, those captured by the Ministry were held and released, or immediately sent to Azkaban. In this case, however, the prisoner had been detained on orders from Harry under the pretense of an immediate transfer the following morning.

Being the current Head of the Aurors Department, this was a decision well within Harry's power. Those powers aside, however, it was widely known that this veer from common practice was made under heavy pressure from Tiberius Mourdim.

Tiberius was the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The upper class wizard held significant influences within the Ministry. For years he had campaigned fiercely, intermingling with affluent families, ensuring his name was on the tongues and in the ears of anyone with any amount of wealth and influence. Many friends, many allies.

Very recently, Tiberius had been assaulted by the prisoner who now dwelled within the makeshift holding cell tucked away in a long forgotten corner of the Ministry of Magic. It was this attack, in fact, that forced Hermione to sign off on the countrywide manhunt that would eventually lead to the assailant's capture. Not before the powerful sorcerer had left a trail of destruction in his wake, however.

Hermione smiled as she walked over to Harry and Draco. She still found it so oddly funny to see them together.

"Hello boys."

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted warmly. Draco merely gave a curt little nod. It was better than what he used to do. "What are you doing here so late?" Harry went on.

"Yeah, shouldn't you be off declaring someone else an enemy of the Ministry?" Draco asked with a sneer.

"Knock it off, Malfoy," Harry interjected.

"Go spit, Potter," Draco spewed. "You watch; it will be one of us next."

" _You_ , perhaps," Hermione threatened as she glared at Draco, although it was clearly an idle intimidation.

Feeling the blood rush to her face as her anger swelled, Hermione took a cooling breath. Her ire, however, was not entirely directed at Draco. In truth, she agreed with his frustrations. She was beginning to loathe her position within the Ministry. Everything she did, she did with the belief that it was for the betterment of the wizarding world. But things had changed. What they were, Hermione could not put to words. Even so, something did not feel right about it anymore.

"You're not planning on going in there, are you?" Harry asked, watching as Hermione eyed the door behind him.

Hermione did not answer. She did not have to. Her eyes told the story, and Harry was far too observant to miss it.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Harry offered.

"I appreciate your concern," Hermione said with a smile. "But one of my duties is to check on and evaluate all prisoners held by the Ministry."

"This is different and you know it," Harry urged.

"Too dangerous, I suppose?" Hermione teased. "He's restrained in his cell, is he not?"

"Yes," Harry agreed reluctantly. "But that's not exactly the—"

"Then I shall be fine," Hermione said simply.

"With most any other prisoner, I would be inclined to agree with you," Harry went on. "But—"

"Harry's right," Draco piped in suddenly. His sincerity caught Hermione off guard. "It's not a good idea … Perhaps you can check on him in the morning."

"In the morning he will be sent to Azkaban," Hermione dismissed. "Now, both of you can put your machismo away. I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. In fact, why don't you two take a break? I'll monitor this watch."

Harry and Draco exchanged glances, neither of them saying a word. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Draco then did the same. Whatever it was that they wanted to say, it was clear that they could not come up with the right words.

"Hermione, I think—" Harry finally began before Draco cut him off.

"Never mind, Potter," he said. "Let it go."

"What?" Harry asked as if it was the most ridiculous statement he had ever heard.

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco pointed out. "She's pulling rank. Just let her have her little moment. It's not like he's going anywhere."

"No," Harry agreed cautiously. "I suppose he's not."

Hermione watched Harry and Draco's interaction in silence. A disagreement that did not come to blows. Quite the opposite, it ended with a clam, albeit reluctant, agreement. How remarkably odd. Then again, everything was odd. Why should Harry and Draco be any different?

"Are you sure?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I'll be fine, Harry," Hermione assured.

"All right," Harry said as he and Draco started off down the hall. "We'll be back in a bit then. Anything happens, we'll be right down the hall."

Draco turned back and smirked at Hermione. "Don't go and do anything stupid. I hardly doubt it would be your head on the line."

The two continued down the hall, whispering to each other as they turned the corner, their footsteps fading in the distance.

 _Define stupid_ , Hermione thought as she turned her attention to the storage room door. She slowly walked over and placed her hand on the ornate iron doorknob, willing herself to go through. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the door and entered the cold darkness beyond.

Inside, the area was dark and uninviting. The walls of stone were lined with various containers. Several candles on dusty shelves cast a dim light across the damp confined space. In the center of the room, a cell of iron bars was built into the stone. Within the cell, Hermione saw the shadowy outline of a man kneeling, his hands and feet shackled, his head bent forward, his dark hair hanging over the hallowed features of his face.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," the man said without looking up.

The words cut through Hermione, tearing at her as years of tethered and buried emotions swelled from within her. She promised herself she would not give in. She promised herself that it was in the past. It was foolish for her to believe it possible … Possible to forget everything that had happened … Possible to forget _him_.

"Killian …" she whispered, her voice cracking as she forced back her flooding emotions with every ounce of constitution she could summon. "What have you _done_?"

. . .

 _Chapter Two should be up shortly ... I hope. Again, if you would like to weigh in on whether or not this story should include, as canon, the epilogue of Hermione and Ron having children or simply ignore that and go with them not having children, feel free to leave your thoughts in a review._


	2. Chapter 2 - Chains that Bind

_I know it took a while for this chapter to post, but it was partially due to me waiting to hear from some readers in regards to the whole "children/no children" aspect of the story. I want to thank everyone who offered their opinion, both by review and by PM. I truly appreciate it and completely understand both sides of the debate. That is why this one single aspect has been so difficult for me._

 _So in the end it came down to simple math. The votes for yay or nay for Hermione and Ron having children have been tallied and, in a bit of a surprise, it was actually very close. But the outcome has been decided and will now be revealed during the story arc to follow. Again, thank you to everyone who offered their thoughts and opinions. This is why I love writing here. The interactions with readers/writers is amazing and I would not trade it for the world._

 _Now that that is out of the way, I hope you enjoy this next post._

 _\- Chapter Two -_

 _Chains that Bind_

There he was. Battered and broken. Chained and restrained like a common criminal. His long coat was worn, his clothes dirty and ragged. To see him in such a manner pained Hermione. How had it come to this? She could still see the boy she had once known in the rough, tattered figure who knelt before her. Even after all the years that had passed them by, she could still see him.

"Do you have a purpose?" Killian asked coldly, his eyes remaining fixed on the floor. "Or are you merely here to stare?"

Hermione was surprised to find herself suppressing a smile. Even in his current confinement, Killian remained arrogant and quick with his tongue. Ever the Slytherin. Her moment of humor melted away when he looked up, however; his bright green falling just short of meeting hers. The tired defiance did little to mask the noticeable swelling on his cheek and dried blood in the corner of his mouth.

It took a moment of mental and emotional suppression before Hermione could continue. After a deep controlled breath, she straightened up, locked the door with a flick of her wand, and advanced towards the cell.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, attempting to sound as proper and professional as possible.

"Your henchmen perform their duties well," Killian answered.

"They're not henchmen …" Hermione defended, lapsing in her tone for a moment before catching herself. "… And they're not mine. They were hired by the Ministry to aid the Aurors. Their inclusion is legal and their actions authorized by the required protocols."

"Of course," Killian said, his eyes falling back to the floor. "How very well you have learned their language."

Taking another deep breath to stave off the sting of Killian's words, Hermione pressed on.

"Tomorrow morning you will be transferred to Azkeban," she said, certain her words sounded as rehearsed as they felt. "Until such time, it is my duty to ensure you are fit, physically and otherwise, to stand trial. As such, I am required to ask if you are in need of any medical attention."

Hermione's queries were met with silence. Utter, painful, and absolute silence. Expecting nothing less, Hermione continued on, mentally working her way down the standard checklist required of all those held by the Ministry.

"Have you eaten since your arrival?"

More silence.

"Along with medical attention," Hermione recited, "any and all who are held by the Ministry are entitled to food and water if requested."

With nothing but iron bars to separate them, Hermione felt as though she was simply a player on a stage delivering lines. And Killian played the part of one who garnered no more relevance than a common criminal, a standard detainee being held by the Ministry, entitled to be made known of his rights before being moved along the path of their judiciary system.

But that was not who they were. No matter her efforts, Hermione's attempts to convince herself otherwise were futile. Even so, regardless of what was or what had been, Hermione had worked far too hard to forge a path of her own in an uphill world that offered no guidance, opened no doors for her. She now had a responsibility, a duty to follow through no matter the circumstance.

"You assaulted seven of the Ministry's aids while resisting arrest," she said. "With the five others from the previous week, that brings the total charges of aggravated crimes against a person or persons to forty-two."

"Is that how it is being reported?" Killian grumbled under his breath.

Hermione was not certain if she was meant to hear his comment or if it were merely a rhetorical musing. Even so, she responded just the same.

"If there is something you would like to say in your defense," she informed, "now would be the time. I would be happy to document any statement you were to offer."

More silence filled the air around them.

"Anything at all would be acceptable," Hermione persisted. "A show of remorse could open up a path of leniency. Particularly given your previous relationship with the Ministry."

Not a single words that fell from her lips was her own. They were ideals scribed by the Ministry; memorized and dictated. They belonged to her office, to her position, but not to her. There was so much more she wished to say, but her true voice remained trapped behind an impregnable wall of guidelines and protocols.

"Do you feel no regret at all for your actions?" Hermione plead, her tone remaining steadfast and firm, albeit wavering upon a desperate desire for some form of response.

"They still breathe," Killian finally said, although he eyes never left the floor, his voice a muffled echo resonating off the stone beneath him.

"Is that a regret?" Hermione asked, aghast with the dark insinuation as her mind searched for any potential interpretation aside from the obvious. "Or perhaps a statement of fact regarding your restraint?" she went on with fleeting hope.

No reply followed. By this time Hermione had all but given up on any expectations to the contrary. His appearance, his crimes, his apathetic mannerisms, even the few, albeit very telling, words he had offered … The man who knelt before Hermione was not the Killian she had known.

At his lowest point, Killian was a broken Slytherin sitting along the shore of the Black Lake staring blankly at the White Tomb that lay before him. Hermione remembered how he looked so lost, so empty. It was as if a part of him had fallen away, a part he was never able to recover, leaving him less of who he was and had always been. The individual now shackled within the cell was little more than the crumbled remains of what was left.

"Killian …" Hermione said, her voice softer, losing its proper tone in place of a torn and sympathetic inflection that much more accurately mirrored her feelings at the moment. "Let me bring you something to eat. You have to—"

"Leave," Killian interjected without the slightest glance in Hermione's direction. "… Please."

Pausing momentarily, suppressing the relentless sting that emanated from Killian's complete and unequivocal dismissal of her presence, Hermione turned and made her way towards the door without a word. She had not known what to expect when she had entered. After all the years that had gone by, how could she? How could anyone in such a circumstance?

She had hoped for something. Although she could not begin to put to words what, exactly, that something was or how she would even recognize it were it to occur. Instead, she was walking away with nothing more than what she had when she walked in. Not that she had made it easy. Her approach certainly had not opened any doors of communication, locked or otherwise. But would any other approach have truly sired a different conclusion? Would it have mattered at all?

Hermione drew her wand and pointed it towards the ornate iron knob, intent on unlocking the door and passing through. In the span of only a few steps, she would leave the area housing the Ministry's makeshift cell, return to her life, and once again put Killian in her past. Just a few strides and it would be over.

In the end, however, it was inevitable. From the moment Hermione had entered the room, it was inevitable.

"How did it come to this?" she asked.

Hermione could not even bring herself to turn back to him. As it was, it took everything in her to just get the words out. A part of her did not even want to hear the answer, if any answer existed at all. That part of her wished to simply remember who they were before life had torn them apart and set them off in directions that could not have been more polar had they been purposely drawn out to be so. But her desire for answers, a blessing and a curse since her years at Hogwarts, would not allow her to let it go.

"Killian, please …" Hermione pressed after several seconds of continued silence.

"I am here upon you orders," Killian finally answered. "Or have you forgotten?"

"My orders?" Hermione asked. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to _sign_ those orders?"

"Not difficult enough to dissuade you," Killian answered.

"You left me no choice," Hermione argued, hating herself as she defended her position.

"No …" Killian replied, much to Hermione's surprise, "… I did not."

Hermione was beginning to think Harry was right. Perhaps it was a bad idea for her to see him again. Perhaps she should have kept her distance. All the pain was coming back ... All of the pain she believed she had put behind her.

As much as she fought it, a single tear fell from her eye. Her back still to Killian, Hermione's only solace was that he did not see. She quickly wiped it away and attempted to regain her composure, finding it a difficult task.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice now barely a whisper.

Again, there was silence. A deafening silence of anguish and emptiness so vast it could swallow their world in its entirety.

"We live the lives we are given to live," Killian finally answered.

"No," Hermione argued furiously, whirling around and forgoing any attempt to control her rising emotions. "You have lived the life you chose to live. Life did not bring you here. Fate did not bring you here. It could have been different. Everything could have been …" she caught herself before continuing on with thoughts and words best left unsaid. "You chose this life. And look at what it has done to you. In chains … Restrained …"

Hermione's voice broke off as she, once again, had to collect herself. In her outburst of emotions, Hermione had crossed the room and was now upon the cell, her hands grasping at the bars as she looked down upon the fractured soul kneeling on the cold stone before her. Killian lifted his head, his eyes upon hers for the first time as he stood and slowly made his way towards her until the chains that fastened him to the floor were taut.

"These are not the chains that bind me," he professed.

Hermione's heart ached with a tortuous resonance. She had tried so desperately to deny it, to consign to oblivion a conviction she held deep within the endless chasms of her most treasured and protected secrets and desires. But she knew it was only in vain. He stood barely the breadth of an outstretched arm from her, separated by nothing more than air, iron, and years.

"Killian …" she whispered as another tear traced her cheek.

It appeared as though Killian wished to say something. At least, Hermione believed he did. Perhaps it was merely a fanciful wish; Killian somehow finding the perfect words to ease whatever troubles the moment might bring. Just like he used to do so often before.

Wishes and dreams aside, in this moment Killian remained silent and still as the shadows around them flickered in the candlelight. Before Hermione could make any attempt to pursue further, the silence was broken by the sound of the doorknob twisting several times in an attempt to gain access to the locked room.

"You must hide," Killian said, his voice suddenly quite serious.

"It's only Harry and Draco," Hermione assured.

"It is _not_ Harry and Draco," Killian insisted fervently.

"What?" Hermione asked, now noticing the concern on Killian's face. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Do you still trust me?" Killian asked in return.

Hermione eyed Killian quizzically. Even with everything she had come to learn while working for the Ministry contradicting her thoughts, she knew. And although she was not entirely sure as to what she knew, it was enough to sway her judgement. As such, she reluctantly made her way behind a stack of dusty chests in the corner of the room and hid herself from view.

Just as she did, she heard the lock click and the door swing open. From the shadows of the threshold, Hermione saw Tiberius Mourdim enter the room. She had certainly not expected this. It seemed extraordinarily odd that the head of the Wizengamot would be paying a visit to a prisoner at such a late hour. Even putting aside that the prisoner was his assailant, Tiberius' presence was highly inappropriate.

"We meet again, Killian," Tiberius said as he strode over to the cell. "Although I much prefer this setting. Far better now that the _Hunter_ has been caged."

"What kept you?" Killian asked with casual defiance as Tiberius confidently paced back and forth along the outside of the makeshift prison cell. "I was beginning to bore myself."

"Ah yes," Tiberius mused. "I am quite certain you anticipated my visit. Azkaban being nothing more than a shadow of its former glory since it was rid of the Dementors, you can understand why I favored your detainment here. I hardly think it would have been a day before you managed your escape from that glorified museum. But here," he went on, "under the watchful eye of the Ministry ... Yes, I think this suits you much better."

With that statement, Tiberius flicked his wand, locking the door and barricading it with several crates and heavy chests. As he did this, a deeply unsettling sensation arose in the pit of Hermione's stomach. What had started as inappropriate suddenly felt far more ominous.

"And what to do now?" Tiberius asked with a smile. "You have become quite a thorn in my side."

"If you would unchain me," Killian returned, "I would be happy to remove it for you."

"You retain your arrogance well," Tiberius commended. "To the end, as it seems."

"You still have not answered my question," Killian said with a subtle calm.

"You're question?" Tiberius asked with an amused chortle. "Not only arrogant, but persistent as well. Such majestic futility. Truly admirable."

"Spurious adulations aside," Killian continued, "I will have my answer."

"Bah!" Tiberius dismissed with another laugh. "Even you must know there is far more to intimidation than contemptuous bravado. You are no longer in a position to make threats against me. As impressive as your skills may be," he went on, removing Killian's silver-topped shillelagh from his robes, "you are at quite a disadvantage without your weapon of choice."

Hermione's unsettled sensation was now evolving into panicked concern. Why was Tiberius there? Why was he in possession of Killian's staff? Furthermore, why was he brandishing it like some form of trophy? Every ounce of her instinct shouted at her to interfere. But for the moment, she held her ground. _Trust him_ , she thought. _Trust him_.

Tiberius ceased his pacing and turned towards Killian. "I believe it is time that we said our goodbyes," he said simply. "I must admit I have put a great deal of thought into this. How to do it? Things such as these must be handled delicately, so as not to arouse suspicion."

Tiberius drew his wand upon Killian and the heavy chains that bound him to the floor began to twist and turn, wrapping themselves around his throat, constricting his airways and choking his life away. Hermione made a movement from behind the chests, but a subtle glance from Killian indicated for her to remain in place. She thought him insane for the gesture? How could he want her to do nothing? It was maddening!

"I came to the conclusion that a noble suicide would seem appropriate," Tiberius explained. "The great _Killian Finn_ , captured and imprisoned, unable to come to terms with his crimes, hangs himself with his own restraints."

Now facing death, Killian simply smiled, laughing to himself under his choked breath as the chains continued to tighten, the clink and grind of iron against iron echoing off the stone walls. Seemingly entertained by the site, Tiberius stepped closer to the cell.

"You find it amusing, do you?" he asked.

"I wonder …" Killian began, his voice strained as he struggled to speak amidst his restrictive bindings. "When your men … disarmed me …" Falling to his knees, he gasped for breath. "Did they bother to check my staff … for a wand?"

Before Tiberius could react to the question, Killian drew a wand from the sleeve of his long coat. An instant later, he was free of his restraints; the strangling chains falling harmlessly to the floor. Tiberius drew his wand in return, but was thrust back into the far wall near the barricaded door.

Killian's next cast was deflected away as Tiberius regained his footing and returned fire. All at once, the room became engulfed in explosions of electric energy as the duelers faced off, nothing but the bars of the cell separating the two. Still Hermione remained in place, unsure of what to do, unsure as to what was even transpiring.

After casting off an arrant curse, Killian blasted the door of his cell. Shards of metal erupted outwards, raining down upon Tiberius, who raised a shield in defense. Killian then followed the shrapnel with another blast of energy that penetrated the shield and enveloped Tiberius. Unable to withstand the attack, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot collapsed to the floor, his wand falling from his hand.

Killian slowly exited his cell and stood over his fallen adversary. The Ministry's captive was weak and wounded. Hermione could see it in his stance. He tried to hide it, but she had seen it before. No amount of pride or arrogance could completely hide the simple fact that, like everyone, Killian was mortal.

With a wave of Killian's wand, Tiberius was pulled upright, hovering mere inches from the ground, restrained by unseen bindings.

"Now ..." Killian started as he straightened up with marked pain, clutching his left side as he eyed his prey, "... of my question."

"Do you really think I am just going to tell you?" Tiberius asked, coughing up a small stream of blood in the process. "Just like that? You truly are as mad as they say!"

"Insanities aside," Killian pressed on, "I believe I made it quite clear that I will have my answer."

"How long have you searched?" Tiberius goaded. "Do you not find it strange that you have achieved nothing but failure in your quest? Tanzar is a ghost. No one knows where he is. At least no one who would speak to you. The penalty for betrayal is far greater than any pain you could cast upon me. I would welcome death in its place!"

"Tanzar is a thug," Killian spat. "I find it difficult to believe he could instill any amount of fear in a wizard of your status."

"Tanzar is less than a thug," Tiberius agreed with spite. "But he has sworn his allegiance to a far greater power."

"Lord Voldemort is dead," Killian said. "His Death Eaters broken and scattered. Any power he once held has long since vanished."

"Do you really believe that?" Tiberius asked. "Is death truly the end? How much strength lies in a name? Whispered on the breeze, in the ears of individuals who fear the impending night. Can you not hear the drums? Their resonance is deafening."

Killian paused, lowering his wand. In doing so, Tiberius was released from Killian's hold and, once again, fell to the floor. It appeared the Chief Warlock's cryptic revelation was unwelcomed, or in the very least, unexpected .

"You're lying," Killian said, although his eyes seemed far from confident.

"Look around you," Tiberius said with a condescending laugh. "Can you honestly tell me who is allied with anyone anymore? Where are your allegiances? Can you even say? We live in a world of chaos. _He_ feeds on chaos."

From her hiding space, Hermione saw Tiberius reaching for his wand. She thought for certain Killian had noticed, but found out too late she was wrong. His thoughts were still distracted, and in this momentary lapse, Tiberius made his move. A flash of red burst forth, striking Killian square and hurling him across the room, crashing through the chests and crates barricading the door.

"And those who swear allegiance to him," Tiberius said as he stood and raised his wand to strike once more, "shall be saved!"

Suddenly, a stream of silver energy collided with Tiberius. The blast thrust his body into the far wall with such impact that several stones fell loose, smashing on the floor aside the old sorcerer's crumpled body.

Hermione stood there, her wand drawn, her hand shaking. She was not even sure what she had cast. It all happened so fast. What had she done? Tiberius was lying in a heap across the floor. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Had she attacked a traitor or protected a criminal?

The sound of the door being forced open from the outside snapped Hermione out of her daze. Looking over towards the commotion, she saw Harry and Draco push through the debris as Killian stumbled to his feet, attempting to shake the cobwebs from his head.

Harry looked over at Hermione, then followed the line of her wand, which was still directed towards the unconscious body of Tiberius on the floor.

"Well," he surmised as he surveyed the scene. "Not exactly according to plan. But it worked out, right?"


	3. Chapter 3 - The Serpent's Lair

_Another chapter is up and ... Well ... That's it, I guess. I'm really tired and can't think of anything else to say/write. Sooooooooo ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Three -_

 _The Serpent's Lair_

Hermione stood there, Harry's words ringing in her ears. _Not according to plan?_ What plan? What, exactly, was going on? Hermione had just witnessed the head of the Wizengamot attack a prisoner within in the confines of the Ministry, and Harry was acting as though the event was commonplace.

As her mind searched for reasoning, Harry and Draco helped Killian, who found himself on less than stable legs at the moment. The room was littered with debris left over from the duel that had transpired only moments before. But the twisted bits of iron shrapnel and splinters of wood did not begin to tell the tale of what had just occurred, nor what was occurring still.

"Easy, Killian," Draco offered as he braced his life long friend by the arm.

"I'm fine," Killian insisted, pulling away in spite of the wobble in his step.

"Appears you were right," Harry said. "Did he tell you?"

"No," Killian admitted, looking over at Tiberius' unconscious form with frustration.

"No?" Draco asked, his tone marking a frustration of his own. "The why in the bloody hell did you knock him out? The whole point of this was—"

"I didn't," Killian assured, his eyes still upon Tiberius.

Harry and Draco glanced over at Hermione, who has yet to find her voice.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized to Killian. "I didn't know she would still be here this late. I tried to—"

"It's all right," Killian dismissed, cutting off Harry much the same as he had done Draco only moments before.

"It absolutely is not," Draco argued. "You're not going to get another opportunity. This was it."

As Draco ranted on, Hermione could stand it no longer. She broke from her position and advanced on the three of them, her wand still out and at the ready.

"Everyone just stop!" she exasperated. "What is going on here?"

None of the three conspirators said a word. Harry looked suddenly ashamed. Draco simply look away. Killian, however, continued to stare at Tiberius, ignoring everything else around him.

"Someone had better start explaining things," she went on. "Harry?"

"Hermione," Harry started off with his hand up defensively. "It's not what you think."

"Oh, really?" Hermione scoffed. "And what is it that I think?"

"Oh, lower your wand," Draco said with a sigh as he took a step forward. "We all know you're not going to do—"

Contrary to Draco's request, Hermione directed her wand upon him, pressing it firmly into his throat. Draco stopped, his eyes widening as he retreated sheepishly.

Harry immediately stepped between Hermione and Draco. "It's all right," he assured. "We're working together."

Killian retrieved his staff and replaced his wand within. He and Draco then retreated into the cell and began conversing in hushed whispers.

"Working together?" Hermione echoed, the revelation of betrayal having the crushing effect of the most violent of curses. "Harry, how could you … I mean … _Harry_?"

"Hermione," Harry went on, placing his hand on Hermione's wand and gently forcing it down. "Let me explain."

In truth, Hermione was not entirely sure that she wanted to know. As it was, she was already beginning to put the pieces together. Not that it made the discovery of Harry's deception any less painful.

"So his arrest," she asked, her eyes dancing between Harry and Killian. "It was all just a ruse to get him inside the Ministry?"

"The night Draco and I took him into custody," Harry began cautiously, seeming to choose his words very carefully, "everything had been prearranged. Killian was meant to surrender to us peacefully. But when we arrived, we found we had beaten to the punch. Literally." He glanced over at Killian and Draco. "Unfortunately, I'm not certain the Ministry's bounty hunters had any idea who they were dealing with, all scattered about like ragdolls."

"They're not bounty hunters," Hermione defended instinctually, just as she had with Killian.

"They may as well be," Harry argued.

"They were hired to help the Aurors," Hermione went on. "To help you."

"The only thing they've done is put a black eye on our department within the Ministry," Harry said. "They're nothing but muscle—Unrefined and dangerous."

"Not dangerous enough, apparently," Hermione said under her breath, giving Killian a glance of her own. "I don't understand? How did this all come to happen"

"Killian sought out Draco," Harry answered. "Draco came to me with it and we made the arrangements.

Draco. Hermione should have known. Of course it would have been Draco. Who else would Killian turn to? The thought of him turning to Draco sent a dagger through Hermione's heart. In another world, another life, it would have been different.

"Draco and Killian agreed upon a location where the three of us would meet," Harry went on. "No Ministry, no Triad. When we got there and saw the Ministry's … _men_ … had arrived before us, Draco went off about it being evidence of Tiberius' corruption."

"Corruption?" Hermione asked. "I don't understand."

"Neither did I," Harry agreed. "And believe me, I didn't trust a word of it. While I'll admit, Tiberius sending our enforcers prior to our arrival was overstepping his authority, in my eyes it leaned more towards aiding a pair of the Aurors who could very well have been walking into a trap versus outright corruption. Until Tiberius insisted we keep Killian in the Ministry's holding cell."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"For one thing, there would be no purpose to it other than to leave Killian vulnerable," Harry answered. "And because that's exactly what Killian said he would do."

"Even so," Hermione said. "That's hardly evidence of—"

"When we secured Killian in his cell," Harry continued, "Tiberius made it clear he wished to conduct the interview ensuring Killian was fit to stand trial."

"Ensure he was fit?" Hermione asked on. "That's my responsibility."

"You were meant to be relieved of it this evening," Harry said. "Apparently you didn't receive the memo."

"I received nothing of a sort," Hermione assured.

"And such an interview is customarily conducted without the presence of Aurors," Harry pointed out. "When Tiberius arrived and saw the door unguarded," he went on, "he must have assumed Draco and I stepped away on his accord, not realizing you had dismissed us for the very reason he claimed to be the3re."

"One too many questionable things," Hermione agreed reluctantly. "Even if all were

technically within the boundaries of the law."

"Exactly," Harry said.

Hermione looked at the fallen Tiberius. She did not know why she even needed Harry's explanation, nor questioned why he had agreed to aid Killian. Hermione had seen Tiberius' intentions with her own eyes. The why and how of it seemed almost trivial now. Even so, it was now clear there was corruption within the Ministry. It had happened before, but she did not want to believe such a thing could occur again. Not on her watch.

"Harry," Hermione reasoned, "the Ministry has declared Killian an outlaw. Do you know what this means now that it appears you've taken sides with him?"

"I'm not the one who stunned Tiberius," Harry pointed out.

Hermione's expression fell. The reality of the situation was setting in. She was relatively certain that Tiberius had not seen her, but that did little to change what she had done.

"Corruption aside, this was about Tanzar, wasn't it?" Hermione asked rhetorically. "It's still all about Tanzar."

"We all have our demons, Hermione," Harry said.

"Infiltrating the Ministry in an attempt to interrogate a Head Wizard of the Wizengamot is more than chasing demons," Hermione said in return.

Harry merely shrugged with an uncomfortable grin. It made no difference in the end if Harry could rationally justify what had occurred. Regardless if Hermione understood Killian's motivations, it would not change a thing. He was still driven by his passion, dark and blind as it may be.

"Come on," Draco called to Harry. "We need to get him out of here. Tiberius will be awake soon enough, and we can't be here when that happens."

"The Floo Network is likely being closely monitored," Harry surmised as he stepped away from Hermione and glanced about the area.

"Probably yeah," Draco agreed.

"Well …" Harry began as he took a step back and directed his wand towards the outer wall. " _Reducto_!"

Harry's cast blew a sizable hole in the stone and mortar, opening the room to the crisp night air beyond leaving all in the room to stare in disbelief. Harry then crossed the room and began sifting through the debris, coming up with a pair of brooms. Tossing one to Killian and the other to Draco, he directed his want out through the doorway.

" _Accio Firebolt_!"

A moment later, Harry's trusty and treasured broom swooped into the room and found its master's hand. Without a word, he, Draco, and Killian steadied their chosen transports, ready to make the escape before Hermione, still awhirl over everything that was happening, her stepped into the path.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"Leaving," Harry answered as he climbed upon his Firebolt.

"Leaving?" Hermione echoed as Draco and Killian climbed upon their respective rides. "To where?"

"It's better if you don't know," Harry reasoned.

"Not to worry," Draco said with a smirk. "Someplace safe."

Harry hovered in the air and began toward the gaping hole in the wall. As Draco and Killian made to follow, Hermione again blocked their path.

"I'm going with you," she said, the words escaping her lips before she had even processed the thought.

"Hermione—" Harry began, but was immediately cut off.

"I am the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she asserted. "And as such, _you_ are under _my_ charge. All of you," she added with a glance towards Draco and Killian. "I'm going with you!"

"What about Ron?" Harry asked. "You're supposed to be going on holiday with the Arthur and Molly."

"As are you," Hermione countered.

"I sent Ginny an owl," Harry explained. "Told her I had some business to attend, and I would catch up with them."

"Then you can send another owl on my behalf," Hermione said.

"We've only three brooms," Draco said. "And I know you don't travel with one, so I doubt there's another one handy."

Hermione scanned through the piles of wood, stone, and metal. True enough, no other broom was to be found. Her mind raced with plausible solutions, coming up with nothing suitable to the circumstance.

As Draco warned of the inevitable disasters to follow should they not vacate the premises, Killian glided across the room, extending his hand towards Hermione without a word. For a moment, Hermione hesitated, looking up at the notorious outlaw, the enemy of the Ministry, the broken Slytherin … Killian. His eyes seemed softer than they had been when she first entered the room. It was only the slightest of differences, but noticeable enough to be more than a trick of shadows and light.

A moment later, she was on the back of his broom as the four of them swept off into the night sky.

. . .

It had been years since Hermione had been on a broom, passenger or otherwise. She had forgotten the sensations of the air rushing past her as they turned and swayed in the winds. It was a feeling of controlled recklessness, a life carefree. She hated it in her youth, but now it seemed different.

As she watched the scenery sail past below, the nostalgia slowly began to slip away. Before they had even reached their destination, she knew where they were headed. The landmarks were unmistakable. A few moments later, the brooms came to rest outside the forbidding shadows of Malfoy Manor. From its deep foundations to the ornate clay tiles that lined its many pitched roofs, there were few structures in existence Hermione detested with more passion.

Hermione dismounted and stood behind Killian. She had been merely a student the last time she set foot within that house, but the horrors were still ingrained in her mind.

Looking to Harry for any form of reaction, she found none. It should have come as no surprise to her. He and Draco had been working together for a few years now, and it seemed likely that Harry had been to the Manor several times during that time.

"Come on," Draco said as he strode towards the entranceway with Killian alongside and doing his best to hide his noticeable limp. "Let's not all stand about like a mob of Muggles."

After taking a good look about the grounds, Harry followed as well, but not before he turned back to Hermione, shrugging as he forced a sympathetic smile.

"Damn you," Hermione grumbled under her breath as she joined Harry.

It was quite late, so Hermione was a bit surprised to see the manor was not in darkness. Quite to the contrary, candles were lit up and down the halls, and the aroma of meat and bread emanated from the kitchen.

As they stood in the foyer, discarding their brooms and straightening their clothes after their wind strewn flight from the Ministry, Narcissa entered from the far hall, greeting them warmly with open arms. Hermione could not have felt more uncomfortable.

"Draco," she welcomed with a smile as she embraced her son, something that appeared to make Draco feel almost as uncomfortable as Hermione. "You've made it back in one piece. And Killian," she went on, embracing Killian with equal fervor. "Dear, dear Killian … What a mess you've found yourself in."

Killian returned the embrace, albeit still favoring his side, but said nothing.

"Harry," Narcissa addressed with a curt nod as she stepped back from Killian.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry returned.

"And Hermione," Narcissa added. " _Weasley_ now, isn't it?"

"Yes ..." Hermione replied, her voice nearly catching in her throat. "That's right."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw the subtle inflection in Killian's expression. He would not look at her. More telling than that was how extraordinarily evident it was that he would not look at her. And this complete lack of attention somehow made Hermione even more exposed than if a thousand eyes were upon her, staring down in glaring judgement.

"Well then," Narcissa offered with a wave of her hand. "Your father is in the parlor, Draco. He's been expecting you. Most of you, at any rate," she added with a glance towards Hermione.

Draco nodded before heading off down the hall and into the parlor with Harry, Hermione, and Killian close behind. There, Hermione saw Lucius sitting in his leather chair, his grandson, Scorpius, perched upon his lap, playing with some form of crystal ball. Astoria was sitting on a small couch along the wall, reading quietly when she saw Draco.

"You're home!" she beamed as she leapt from the couch and threw her arms around her husband. "I was beginning to worry! Is everything all right?"

"Oh, calm yourself," Draco dismissed. "I told you it would be fine."

"And it appears you were correct," Lucius said. "All certainly seems to be fine. Astoria," he went on as he stood, holding his grandson in his arm. "Be a good girl and take Scorpius off to bed, will you?"

Astoria obliged, going to Lucius and taking Scorpius into her arms.

"Say goodnight to your father," she said as she walked back towards Draco.

"G'night," Scorpio said with a yawn.

Draco responded with a simple nod, brushing his hand through his son's hair. Astoria and Scorpius then left, closing the parlor door as they departed. As the others began to settle in, Hermione glanced the parlor. Visions of Bellatrix Lestrange pressing the sharpened edge of a dagger to her throat in a maniacal rage flashed through her mind with the grace and subtlety of a Hungarian Horntail crashing through a stained glass window.

"Are you well?" Lucius asked of Killian, refocusing Hermione to the present circumstances.

"Well enough, sir," Killian answered with respect.

He was lying. Hermione could see the exhaustion in Killian's posture. Having read the detailed report of the exchange prior to his arrest as well as having witnessed what occurred in the holding cell, she believed it to be something of a testament he was even standing at the moment.

"I must say," Lucius said with a condescending smile, "I was not expecting a visit from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The house is clean of all contrabands, I can assure you. But feel free to search if you like."

"That won't be necessary." Hermione forced a smile of her own. "Not at this time, at least."

"Excellent," Lucius returned with a nod. "I can assume we have not all gathered here to socialize. We have stories to tell, have we not?"

"As it turns out, we do not," Draco explained, making no attempt to hide his displeasure.

"No?" Lucius asked.

"You were correct," Killian explained, although his gaze was not upon Draco and Lucius, nor anyone else in the parlor. "The Ministry has been infiltrated and corrupted. A move, it appears, that was driven by Tiberius Mourdim, albeit I do not believe he is alone in it."

"And Tanzar?" Lucius asked on.

"Connected," Killian answered as if he was still working out the details even as his words escaped his lips. "But not a follower of Tiberius. Although I understand why one would think it so. He follows power, individuals he can hide behind, using their influence to his advantage."

"Your look of concern is disturbing to me," Lucius said, his eyes narrowing.

"I apologize," Killian said, shaking his head and straightening up before finally addressing Lucius properly. "I'm … Very tired, is all."

"Of course," he acknowledged, smiling with a sympathetic dismissiveness that arose an odd concern within Hermione. "I am certain this ordeal has taken its toll." He then turned to Harry and Draco. "I assume Tiberius is dead?"

"No," Harry answered in a tempered, yet sharp, tone. "Aside from such a conclusion never being in consideration, killing Tiberius would raise alarms within the Ministry. I would think it better to keep the Ministry unaware of our intentions until we're sure who we can trust."

"Well played, Mr. Potter," Lucius commended, although Hermione could not measure the sincerity of his comment. "Of course, with what has transpired, Tiberius will, no doubt, draw upon all of his accumulated resources in search of you."

"I anticipate as much," Killian agreed.

"I'm certain you do," Lucius said as he stood, crossing the floor towards the mirror over the mantle and gazing into his own reflection. "There is little we can accomplish this night," he offered. "You can stay here, of course. When the morning comes … Well, we shall see."

With Lucius' ominous remark, the parlor reduced to a mingling of conversations. Astoria and Narcissa joined the room, and trays of food and drink were brought in for consumption. Draco, Harry, and Lucius sat and discussed the suspicions within the Ministry as Hermione listened and observed. She did not have much to offer to the conversation, as she had little knowledge of everything that was transpiring. Everything was happening at such an accelerated pace, it was all she could do just to keep up with it all.

After only a few short minutes, Killian placed his goblet on the side table and made his way to the door. Seeing this as an opportunity to escape the an area that seemed more and more suffocating as the night drew on, Hermione immediately got up and followed.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Upstairs," Killian answered. "I would like to get clean and rested."

Again, he was lying. Hermione could feel it. He simply did not want to be in the room. Too much … something. Wishing she could think of anything to say, Hermione simply stood there in silence, hoping she did not look as foolish as she felt.

"Hermione …" Killian began before stopping himself. Like in his cell, his eyes fell just short of meeting hers. "You do not have to stay here ... I know how you must feel about this place. I can make arrangements to—"

"I'm already here," Hermione assured. "And it's all right. I'm fine."

Killian did not seem to accept this answer outright, but said nothing to argue. Instead, he took a glance over Hermione's shoulder towards Lucius, Harry, and Draco. Hermione could see that his every movement was pained, with just that subtle movement causing a flinch he attempted to hide by flexing his shoulder and straightening up.

"Very well," he offered with a bow of his head. "Goodnight."

Killian then turned and exited the parlor, leaving Hermione at the threshold in a room housing a lion among serpents.

"Goodnight, Killian," Hermione whispered to herself as she watched the battered and bruised Slytherin disappear up the stairs at the end of the hall.


	4. Chapter 4 - Nightswimming

_Another post is up. And after the dream I had last night where I was in a place I did not want to be, surrounded by people I did not want to be around, feeling about as uncomfortable as one could possibly feel, I actually feel sorry for what Hermione is currently going through. Is that weird? If feels like it should be weird?_

 _Anyways, I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Four -_

 _Nightswimming_

After Killian retired for the evening, Hermione remained in the hall just outside the parlor, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, attempting to convince herself she was not where she was and, more than anything, not partaking in the events she was, in fact, partaking. With everything that had already taken place throughout the evening, returning to a room where Harry, Draco, and Lucius were engaged in conversations of politics and strategies was simply more than she could bear.

Before long, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Startled, Hermione's eyes burst open to see Harry standing aside her wearing the same sympathetic smile he wore outside the manor when they first arrived.

"Are you all right?" he asked, joining her in her lean.

"You'll have to define that for me, I'm afraid," Hermione answered, doing her best to remain strong and positive.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "This can't be easy for you."

"Which part?" Hermione asked. "Aiding in the escape of a criminal? Being back in this dreadful house?" She turned to Harry. "Finding out my best friend has been conspiring behind my back?"

Harry looked to the ground, running his fingers through his hair and scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Suppose I deserve that."

"You do," Hermione assured. "Far worse, actually."

"You understand why though, right?" Harry asked.

Looking down the hall towards the stairs Killian has ascended moments before Harry arrived, Hermione sighed to herself. "Yes," she answered. "Doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh of his own. "Look," he went on. "You don't have to stay, Hermione. I can call the Knight Bus or make some other—"

"I'm fine, Harry," Hermione assured, finding it strange that Harry, like Killian before, was making an offer that allowed her to leave. She had come this far already and was certain another hour or so longer as Harry, Draco, and Lucius worked out whatever it was they needed to work out for the night was not beyond her handling.

Before Harry could continue, the parlor began to empty. Draco and Lucius walked by, still locked in conversation, while Astoria stopped in front of Hermione and Harry.

"I can show you to your rooms," she offered warmly.

"Rooms?" Hermione choked, looking to Harry for any explanation beyond the obvious.

"Nonsense, Astoria," Narcissa said, placing a hand on her daughter in-law's shoulder in an attempt to guide her along. "We have servants for such duties."

"It's all right, I don't mind," Astoria assured, pulling free of Narcissa and gesturing for Harry and Hermione to follow her down the hall. "This way."

How Astoria could be any relation to Daphne Greengrass was beyond Hermione's comprehension. She was sincerely warm and kind, unlike the feigned grace Narcissa presented when Hermione and Harry entered the home. Of course, Astoria was also subservient, which was probably the foremost reason Draco was drawn to her.

Harry and Hermione were escorted up the grand staircase to the second floor where Astoria guided them to their rooms on opposite sides of the hall before dismissing herself with a smile and courteous nod.

Once alone, Hermione approached Harry outside his bedroom door.

"Rooms?" she reiterated, this time with a much greater expectation of answers.

"The Knight Bus is still an option," Harry offered like an individual fearful of being struck.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked on. "Why are you staying?"

"Kingsley will be here in the morning," Harry explained. "Makes little sense to leave and come right back. And aside from that, I'd like to keep this whole thing on a pretty short tether." Seemingly able to sense the growing maelstrom swelling with Hermione, Harry's expression softened. "Look, I know this must be a bit odd for you," he began.

"A _bit_ odd?" Hermione chirped. "When you and Draco began working together, that was a _bit_ odd. Taking a room in Malfoy Manor after having dinner and conversations with the Malfoy's … That is _beyond_ odd. How can you trust them, Harry? How do you know this isn't some sort of maneuver?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "A gut feeling, I guess."

Hermione sighed. "How wonderful that you've actually put serious thought into this."

"Look," Harry said, trying his best to sound convincing. "After you signed the orders against Killian, Draco came to me for help. You want to talk about beyond odd?"

"He could have just been trying to protect a family friend," Hermione dismissed.

"That was my first thought as well," Harry agreed. "But as things went on … I don't know …" He hesitated, clearly struggling to put his thoughts to words. "It didn't feel right."

"Gut feeling," Hermione quipped. "So you've said."

"I don't know how better else to explain it," Harry defended, albeit not with little fortitude.

"For all you know, Lucius is involved with whatever corruption is occurring within the Ministry," Hermione pointed out. "Pulling strings and playing everyone like chess pieces. It's no different than before."

"I don't believe Lucius would go down that path again," Harry defended after a moment's contemplation.

"Oh yes, he's a changed man," Hermione mocked. "I just can't believe you trust him, Harry."

"I don't necessarily trust Lucius," Harry corrected. "But I trust Killian. And he trusts the Malfoys."

Harry's proclamation silenced Hermione. What could she say? What possible response would make any difference or hold any merit. Harry trusted Killian. Killian trusted the Malfoys. Ergo, Harry trusted the Malfoys. Should she not feel the same way? Did she not trust Killian as well?

"Things are complicated," Harry said.

Complicated. Hermione had heard that term so often before to describe any number of various moments in her life. In truth, she had come to loathe to word. Complicated. Everything was always so complicated.

"It's not like before," Harry went on. "The world is no longer so black and white. Times like these can create some strange allies."

"So it appears." Hermione sighed regretfully. "Killian went to Draco, Draco went to you, and I'm sure you and Ron have …"

"I haven't told Ron anything," Harry revealed.

"Ron doesn't know?" Hermione asked with genuine surprise.

"Are you serious?" Harry smiled. "Ron isn't exactly cut out for this sort of thing anymore. There was no way I could let him get involved."

"And you didn't tell me because …" Hermione prodded.

Harry paused, scratching his head uncomfortable as he had done in the hall below.

"I promised him I wouldn't," he finally admitted sheepishly.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and glanced at the floor, feeling more exposed in that moment than she had when she had first entered Malfoy Manor.

"If you're going to stay, you should get some sleep," Harry suggested, placing his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "The rest will do us both some good. And I still need to send that owl on your behalf," he added with a smirk.

With that, Hermione bid Harry goodnight and walked to her room. Upon opening the door, she saw that it was quite small, barely large enough to hold a cot-sized bed and a battered wardrobe. The Malfoys had certainly not gone out of their way to make their guests comfortable.

Just as she was closing her door, she heard the faint sounds of music coming from another room down the hall. It was soft and soothing, barely audible. A quartet of strings playing a minuet Hermione was certain she had heard before.

Quietly making her way down the hall, she followed the sound until she reached the door of another of the guest rooms. Pressing against it, she found the door to be open. As it slowly swung inwards, Hermione's heart leapt as she saw a familiar figure turning down the large canopy bed.

"Kuulic!" she said with a beaming smile.

The odd looking little house-elf leapt and turned, his small beady eyes wide and startled.

"Friend of Master!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Much politeness to you," he added with a low bow. "Kuulic is most happy he sees you agains!"

"It's good to see you as well," Hermione returned. "You serve the Malfoys?"

"Master requests I stay and serves," Kuulic answered as he returned to his duties about the room. "Master wants Kuulic to haves a home."

"And are they treating you well?" Hermione asked.

"Very well," Kuulic answered. "Master says when brings Kuulic, _this not Dobby, this Kuulic. Treats well_. And they treats well."

Hermione smiled. She could almost imagine the scene, the look on Lucius' face when he was told that he needed to treat a house-elf _well_. Killian was certainly bold enough to make such a demand. That was a certainty beyond any doubt.

"Where is Killian?" Hermione asked as she glanced about the room. It was far larger and more lavishly decorated that the one she was to use for the night. Clearly, Killian was given more favor. Not that it came as any surprise.

"Master has many pains," Kuulic explained. "Master bathes so Master is not to feels for long."

Hermione noticed another door on the far side of the room. At that moment, she realized this other door was the source of the music. As she walked over to the door, Kuulic bowed again.

"Kuulic gives moments for Friend of Master," he said.

With a snap, the house-elf Disapparated.

Placing her hand on the door, Hermione found that this door, too, was not closed. This time, she was careful not to push it open. Instead, she peeked through the opening and saw Killian sitting in a large bath in the center of the room, the steamy water filled with bubbles. About the bath there were dozens of candles giving the room an eerie flickering glow. The music Hermione had heard was merely emanating from the air, a simple trick Killian had shown her many years before.

Killian sat in the bath with his back arched forward slightly, his head hanging down. He held a soaked sponge to the back of his neck, the waters cascading down his spine and across his face. Around his neck, Hermione saw her chain, her ring … Her mark.

"It's not polite to lurk in doorways," Killian said as he doused the sponge before reapplying it to the back of his neck.

Hermione immediately snapped out of her moment of nostalgia, collected herself, and opened the door as if it were perfectly fine for her to be in a room with a man bathing only a few feet away.

"I would never have imagined you to be one for candles and bubble baths," she teased.

"I will admit it's not quite night swimming," Killian said, wincing slightly. "But I find it soothing nonetheless."

As Hermione's eyes began to adjust to the dim light, she saw that Killian's back, shoulders, and arms were covered with welts and bruises. On the side he had been favoring, a large area was marked with an irregular shape of sickly yellow mixed with deep blue and purple.

"Dear God ..." she said, approaching the bath for a better look. "Are those all from …"

"They are from a lot of things," Killian explained through gritted teeth as the water ran over his wounds in random streams.

"Let me get you some Beatrice Blood Balm," Hermione offered. "It will take—"

"That is not necessary," Killian dismissed.

"Killian …" Hermione insisted, "… at least take something for the pain."

"Pain is a most effective teacher," Killian said as he soaked the back of his neck for a third time. "It reminds us of our failures, our weaknesses … Our mistakes."

 _Mistakes_ , Hermione thought. _Mistakes and regrets_.

"Since you're standing there, would you mind?" Killian asked, holding the sponge out towards Hermione. "I'm having difficulty reaching, and it appears Kuulic has taken his leave."

Hermione stood there, her mouth opening and closing several times in an attempt to speak, but unable to do so.

"Please do not pretend to be bashful," Killian pressed on, wincing once more and taking a deep breath. "You are already in the room, so any reservations of that sort should no longer apply."

Not willing to be outdone in boldness, Hermione straightened up, swiped the sponge from Killian's hand and pressed it firmly against a rising welt on his back. Feeling the muscle flutter and twitch, Hermione almost felt guilty for inflicting the pain … Almost.

After making her point, Hermione gently began to massage Killian's back, soaking the sponge and tenderly cleansing his wounds. She noticed his long coat, boots, and clothing lying in a heap on the floor near the bath, filthy and tattered.

"Well, if you won't take care of yourself," Hermione began, "you're going to at least dress decently." She drew her wand, and with a quick flick, Killian's apparel swirled about before finding their place on a chair against the wall, clean, mended, and folded with precision. "I will be seen with someone who looks like a vagrant," she concluded.

"Well, I certainly would not want to embarrass you," Killian quipped, clenching his jaw as the water continued to flow over his back.

"You know, you're not a teenager anymore," Hermione pointed out as she squeezed the sponge over Killian and worked her way to his shoulders. "Your body cannot take the same damage it used to."

"True," Killian agreed. "Of course, the comparison is irrelevant. Back then, I do not recall the odds being so significantly one-sided."

"Back then you would have known better than to engage a small army by yourself," Hermione shot back.

Killian turned his head, looking up at Hermione. Hermione paused, unconsciously releasing the sponge, her hand now resting firmly against Killian's flesh.

"Back then …" his eyes locked with hers, "… I could not do the things I can do now."

Hermione suddenly became aware of her hand. Quickly pulling it away, she stood and distanced herself from the bath.

"I-I think …" she bumbled as she attempted to collect herself. "I think you should be fine."

"Should be," Killian agreed, his eyes still on Hermione as she wrung her hands uncomfortably. "Would you be so kind as to hand me my robe?"

Hermione looked about and saw several green and silver silk robes draped over hooks along the wall. Green and silver. Of course, they would be green and silver. Hermione grabbed one of the robes and handed it to Killian, avoiding eye contact completely.

Killian took the robe and began to stand. Hermione immediately turned her back to him. She did not know why she did. She did not want to. She found her conscience daring herself to turn back as she heard the water falling from Killian body and collecting in the bath below.

"The bath is yours, if you would like to freshen up," Killian offered.

Hermione turned in time to see Killian tying his robe. With a wave of his hand, the music stopped and the tub became empty and clean.

"That would be nice, actually," Hermione admitted. "My room does not have the … luxuries that yours enjoys."

Killian paused at the door, but did not turn back to Hermione. "You can sleep here," he offered. "The bed is quite comfortable and there is a sofa that will be more than adequate for me."

"I … I don't think …" Hermione rambled, at a loss for words. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"The choice is yours, of course," Killian dismissed as he continued on towards the bedroom.

His coldness tore at Hermione. She longed for a smile, a smirk, a sneer. Anything beyond the heartless exterior Killian presented.

"Do let me know if you need a hand in here," he added before exiting to the bedroom entirely.

Cold and emotionless. But at least it was juvenile. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, shaking her head as Killian entered the bedroom and closed the door. As unfeeling as it was, Killian's offhanded remark made Hermione feel young again. Dangerously young.

Walking back towards the bath, she turned on the water and began to disrobe. As her clothes fell to the floor, she noticed that the door was actually still slightly ajar. She thought about closing it entirely, but decided against it. There was something about leaving the door unlocked … open …

Hermione slid into the warm bubbly waters, leaned back, and closed her eyes. It was overwhelmingly soothing. She would have never believed she could feel this comfortable within the walls of Malfoy Manor. But that was not where her mind was. Her mind was far away, in a different place, a different time. A time when things were simpler.

After soaking for a good long while, Hermione realized that if she planned on being in any sort of fit shape in the morning, she would need to get some rest. She climbed out of the bath and grabbed one of the remaining robes that hung along the wall.

 _Green and silver_ , she thought as she looked at herself in the standing mirror near the door. She did look good in Slytherin colors. Thoughts of _what if_ ran through her mind momentarily before she dismissed them away with a sigh.

She then left the bath and entered Killian's bedroom. Once there, she saw Killian, dressed in green silk pajamas, asleep on the sofa. As adequate as he claimed it would be, Hermione could easily see he was far too large for the makeshift bed, his feet dangling from the end, his one arm draped over the side.

"Killian," Hermione whispered as she gently nudged him on the shoulder. "Killian, wake up."

He awoke, twisting and stretching with marked pain.

"Killian, you can't sleep here," Hermione went on. "You need to be in a bed. I'll be fine in my own room."

"You will not," Killian asserted as he stood and addressed Hermione.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, completely taken aback by Killian's sudden forthrightness.

"Your room is not fit for a slave," Killian answered. "I will not allow it."

"Well, I will not allow you to sleep on a sofa when you're carrying yourself like a broken old man!" Hermione shot back glaringly.

"It appears we have found ourselves at an impasse," Killian said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

Hermione sighed, pushing Killian on the chest as she glanced over at the bed. "Oh, damn you and your _impasses_!" Her conscience argued with her desires as she tried to simplify the matter. "It's a large bed. There's plenty of room for the both of us."

Killian said nothing. Hermione could see very well that he was as uncomfortable with the idea as she was. Even so, he made no argument against it.

"We are both adults," Hermione concluded, completely disbelieving her own words. "We can manage."

"Agreed," Killian finally conceded, almost reluctantly. "What side shall you take?"

"I'd prefer the left, if you don't mind," Hermione answered honestly.

As she approached the bed, however, a sudden realization occurred to her that twisted her stomach far worse than anything had the entire evening.

"I don't have anything to wear," she said, glancing down at her thin silken bathrobe.

"That could be a problem," Killian said simply.

Without another word, he unbuttoned his silk shirt, removed it, and tossed it to Hermione.

"Kuulic will attend to your clothes," he said. "You can wear this for the night."

Hermione looked at the shirt. It did not take but a moment for her to realize that this was truly her only option. His shirt or nothing at all.

She grinned as she noticed Killian staring at her. "Would you mind turning around?"

Killian bowed his head and promptly obliged.

As he turned, Hermione removed her robe and put on Killian's shirt. It was just long enough to cover her, albeit far too short for a nightshirt. Covering her mouth, Hermione struggled to stifle a laugh. She did not know why she found it so amusing. Was it the absolute absurdity of it? Or perhaps that such absurdities did not seem so terribly out of place between the individuals currently occupying the room. Either way, the heavy and uncomfortable atmosphere that had plagued Hermione since she had crossed the threshold of Malfoy Manor was now suddenly, if only temporarily, banished away.

Killian turned back just as Hermione was climbing into bed. With one last hesitation, he made his way opposite her and gingerly climbed in as well. The bed was truly large enough for two. In all actuality, it was large enough for three or four comfortably.

After Hermione had settled in properly, she looked over at Killian, who was now lying on his back, his eyes already closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his every breath.

"Goodnight," she said softly.

"Goodnight," Killian returned. "And do promise you will behave yourself."

Was he grinning? The light was so dim, Hermione could not be certain. She wanted to believe he was, at least in his mind if not outwardly.

As the room fell into silence, Hermione was at ease. She felt warm, she felt safe. Nestling up in the covers, it was not long before she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of dancing with serpents in a dark stairway amidst the haunting music of a harp and string trio.


	5. Chapter 5 - Ship of Fools

_Apologies ... It took a few days longer than I had hoped this post to go up. Mostly because this is the chapter in which the poll from Chapter One goes into effect. And yes, even after the poll, I still had a back and forth battle in my head over how to proceed. But in the end, I went with the result of the poll._

 _So, do Hermione and Ron have children or do they not? Read on in my first ever "reader participation" plot line/device. Or something like that._

 _But I digress ... Moving on. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Five -_

 _Ship of Fools_

Hermione slept soundly nestled under the covers of the four poster bed. As day broke, she slowly awoke from her slumber, unwilling to open her eyes as she indulged in the pleasures of her other senses. The lavender scent embedded within the silken sheets that caressed her skin, the firm yet forgiving texture of muscle and flesh, the rhythmic drumming in her ear, each breath resonating like waves crashing on the sand, her leg over his, his hand against her back, holding her close …

Suddenly, Hermione was wide awake and completely aware of her surroundings. Holding her breath, she looked up at Killian, relieved to see he was still asleep. Carefully, she pulled herself from his embrace and slipped out of bed. Gathering up her clean, pressed clothing that sat on the nightstand, she then quietly made her way to the door and left the room.

 _Stupid_ , she thought as she hurried towards her room.

How could she possibly believe that in an unconscious slumber she would keep her distance? Did he notice? Was it simply an unconscious act on his part as well? She should have known better. She _did_ know better. She knew and she let it happen anyway. Furthermore, she hated herself for her growing desire to return to his bed.

"Remarkable figure," came Draco's snide voice as Hermione reached the door to her room. "I mean, a body like that … Unbelievable for a teenager, let alone a mother of, what is it, two children now?"

Hermione's guilt was already eating away at her. Draco's comment simply threw acid on the open wound.

"Ah, that's right," Draco went on. "That adorable pitter patter of little feet is painfully absent in the Weasley home. So much work, work, work. No time for such distractions in your life. I wonder how Ron is with that. Taking it well, is he?"

"Go to hell, Draco," Hermione said, her tone far weaker than she intended as she struggled to temper her emotions.

"Oh yes, I should go to hell, right?" Draco went on with disgust. "I know where _my_ room is. Didn't realize I would have to draw you a map to yours."

"I wonder if your words would be so sharp with Killian," Hermione fired back accusingly.

"Killian doesn't sicken me as you do," Draco spat.

"Is that right? And have I done something in particular to sicken you?" Hermione asked, glaring at Draco with a ferocity that well masked the anguish she wished to bury. "Or is it my mere presence that offends?"

The pallid Slytherin did not answer. Without another word, Hermione turned away and entered her room, slamming the door behind her. Tossing her pile of clothes aside, she threw herself onto the bed and pressed her face into her pillow, wishing for nothing more than to disappear. She felt lost. She felt cruel. More than that, she felt abhorrently guilty. Her mind was so awash she did not hear her door open and close, nor the footsteps that followed.

"Hermione," came Draco's voice again, this time lacking the spiteful tone it had held only moments before.

Hermione sat up, her eyes like daggers upon Draco as he stood beside her bed.

"Get out!" she shouted, reaching for her wand and drawing it upon her unwanted guest.

"I'm sorry," Draco apologized as he raised his hands in defense, albeit without retreat.

"No, you're not," Hermione went on before she even realized what Draco had said. "You're a vicious, callous, selfish—What did you say?"

"I said, I'm sorry," Draco repeated with as much sincerity as Hermione had ever heard from him. "I didn't mean to … I wasn't … Oh, bloody hell, you know what I mean!"

"You Slytherins have difficulties with your apologies," Hermione accepted, straightening up and lowering her wand.

"We don't have much practice," Draco conceded.

"I have no doubt," Hermione agreed. "It's not what you think," she went on in an attempt to muster up an excuse for her presence in the hall. "I was just—"

"It's exactly what I think," Draco assured. "I'm not stupid."

Hesitating for a moment in an awkward manner that seemed strangely uncomfortable, even for the current situation, Draco began to pace. At least, he began to pace as much as one could in such a confined area. He said nothing at first, simply sighing and running his fingers through his hair before finally addressing Hermione directly, although he could not quite look her in the eyes.

"You need to understand something," he explained.

"Do I?" Hermione asked dismissively.

" _Do I_?" Draco echoed, laughing to himself as if the question was somehow humorous. "Killian has been my friend since before my first memories. He has been like a brother to me … More than a brother ... More family than most of my legitimate blood ties. And I've watched him over the years on this … downward spiral. Surrounding himself with pain, chasing death as if it's some form of trophy."

"I don't understand," Hermione said as she tried to interpret Draco's words.

"The night Harry and I brought him in," Draco explained. "The night he tore into that ragged mob of the Ministry's thugs … He knew Harry and I were on our way. When he saw the ambush—And don't tell me for a moment he didn't see those shamefully unskilled halfwits long before they saw him—He could have hid, he could have left, he could have, God forbid, just surrendered himself. But he didn't. He went at them. There was no reason, no purpose." He paused for a moment, staring off in contemplation. "He has this unholy desire to punish himself for his perceived failures. His sister, his parents … You."

"Me?" Hermione questioned. "He never failed me. _Never_. It's just … We just …"

Draco ceased his pacing and sat down on the bed beside Hermione. Realizing that she was wearing only Killian's shirt, Hermione adjusted herself so as to appear more decent. Whether she accomplished this or not was questionable, as Draco seemed far too distracted with his thoughts to notice.

"You can lie to yourself if you like," he said with a sigh. "I'm sure Killian does the same. But I've seen him … Seen him with that damn _ring_ of yours hanging around his neck. I've seen his expression when he looks at it. It's like a poison to him. A poison and an addiction perfectly intertwined in a cheap circle of silver."

Standing abruptly, Draco returned to his pacing. "And now you're here," he said, looking back at Hermione with a wild gesture. "But to what end? What purpose will it serve? What will it do to him? What will it do to you? What does any of it …" His voice tapered off as he turned away with another heavy sigh, both hands on his head, massaging his scalp through his hair.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Hermione asked, a single tear crossing her cheek, which she quickly wiped away before Draco could notice.

Ceasing his pacing once again, Draco opened his mouth as if to answer, but no words came of it. He simply stared blankly at the floor before closing his eyes and shaking his head dismissively.

"Because I know he won't," he finally said.

Hermione had no response. What could she say that would not be a betrayal? She could not have feelings for Killian anymore. It was not allowed. Yet, with this realization, her heart tore as it battled with her conscience. How could emotions so strong be iniquitous? What kind of a world would allow such conflictions to exist?

"All right then," Draco concluded as he straightened his shirt and adjusted himself. "We've had our little moment. No need to speak of it again."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, knowing full well that Draco had no desire to let on that he had taken part in such a conversation. If such a discussion would not be considered a Slytherin displaying weakness, nothing would.

"Good," Draco said. "Best get dressed then. The Minister should be arriving soon."

"Already?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Draco answered. "And although I'm sure Kingsley appreciates the female form as well as any warm blooded wizard, you may wish to present yourself with a little more decency than you're currently displaying."

Draco reached for the door, pausing before opening it.

"Hermione," he said without turning back. "As much as I may let on, I don't judge you. I don't envy you, nor do I particularly care for you, but I don't judge you. I may not understand his thoughts or processes, but …" He stopped for a moment, seemingly unsure of his words or how to express them. "The bloody fool is still in love with you."

With that one final revelation, Draco left Hermione alone in her room, emotionally lost and struggling to organize the thoughts in her head. It was not long before she realized that there was no time for such an endeavor. She grabbed her clothes that she had previously tossed aside, removed Killian's shirt, and made herself ready for the day.

. . .

As Hermione approached the dining room entrance, she saw Harry, Draco, and Kingsley sitting at the table. Upon entering, she was surprised to see that Lucius, Narcissa, and Astoria had not yet joined them. Given the circumstances, Narcissa and Astoria's absence did not seem entirely abnormal, but Hermione found it very odd that Lucius would not have insisted upon being part of whatever conversations were to take place. After a quick glance about the room, however, the lack of any persons not currently employed by the Ministry became horrifyingly clear.

"Miss Granger," Tiberius greeted from a corner of the dining area where he was admiring a particular tapestry which bore an image of a young knight kneeling before a maiden. "You are a surprise to me."

A subtle expression from Harry was all Hermione needed to understand that things were not going as planned. How she managed to keep her calm was a testament in and of itself. Reading Harry's expression and having the immediate realization of how the next moments needed to play out was another thing entirely.

"I could say the same for you, Tiberius," Hermione returned as she made her way to the table and set herself aside Harry.

"With the recent events, I thought it best to be more directly informed of our ongoing efforts," Tiberius explained.

"That's not exactly protocol," Hermione pointed out.

"These times are difficult," Kingsley said with a smile. "I am sure you understand if we are made to stray the line, if only slightly."

"Of course, Minister," Hermione agreed, doing her best to bite her tongue.

"We were just discussing last night's escape," Tiberius informed. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have informed me that you have already been briefed of the details. With expedience, as it appears."

"As I said," Harry led. "We sent an owl to Hermione immediately after—"

"Yes, yes," Tiberius interjected, dismissing Harry with a gesture more often seen when silencing a child. "I would like to hear from Miss Granger, thank you."

A silence fell across the room. A silence that was certainly far shorter than it felt as Hermione gauged Tiberius, reading his body language and well as that of all others present in the room.

"I was on my way home," Hermione began, her heart racing but her expression steadfast, "having been informed that you would be conducting the wellness interview with the prisoner personally. It was then I received an owl regarding an incident within the holding cell. As such, I returned to find …" Pausing more for effect than any lack of direction, Hermione took a breath. "Well, to be honest, I am not certain what I found. You say it was an escape. To me it had more the appearance of a break in."

The smile on Harry's face was a clear indication that Hermione had spoken well. An owl being sent with nothing more than a vague description and a request for an immediate return. Harry was a seasoned Auror and knew far better than to send any information, particularly in regards to a high profile criminal having escaped incarceration, via such an unsecure, albeit efficiently expedient means such as an owl. Hermione knew this, and, no doubt gave an almost word for word description of the previous evenings events as the one Harry had only just conjured himself. Her questioning of an escape versus a break in based on the carnage left behind and massive hole in the outer wall only further cemented the validity of her words. It was a perfect performance.

"Break in, break out …" Tiberius returned with a grin. "It was an escape nonetheless. How it occurred is less important than its occurrence in and of itself."

"And how did it occur?' Hermione pressed. "When I arrived, the area was empty. My initial fear, of course, was for you safety; that you may have been taken. You are, after all, his target."

Although tempting fate, Hermione was certain that upon regaining consciousness Tiberius left the holding cell immediately, wishing to distance himself from the area so as to eliminate any eyes in his direction. Such actions would also allow him to get ahead of the story and direct the narrative according to his wishes. This left Hermione's version of events even more viable while also opening the door for her to ask questions of her own.

"Indeed, it appears I am," Tiberius said. "Unfortunately I have little memory of it. Although I understand Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy heard the commotion and acted without haste, giving chase to the Hunter as well as whomever may have aided in his escape."

"Whomever?" Hermione asked, her blood running cold as Tiberius' words filtered through her ears.

"Tiberius is convinced there may have been others involved," Draco explained, his contempt bleeding through his words quite evidently.

"Although he has reported having seen no other persons," Kingsley quickly clarified.

"Nor did I," Harry added.

"Nor I," Draco piped in as well.

"In truth, neither of you saw anyone at all, conspirator or otherwise," Tiberius clarified further. "As upon arrival, the prisoner had already fled, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "But there was a faint trail. Draco and I gave chase as best we could, but it ran cold near Salisbury. That's when we decided to regroup here at the manor."

"A convenient place to do so. Grandiose, yet still somehow inconspicuous," Tiberius commented before turning his attention back to Hermione. "And you arrived shortly after to tend to your Aurors?"

"It was less tending and more of a discussion regarding how, exactly, to proceed from here," Hermione answered curtly. "Cleaning up the messes others leave behind is one of my many responsibilities."

"And what shall I take from that?" Tiberius asked on with a purposeful and authoritative tone.

"You are to take it as a prisoner has escaped from the Ministry's care," Hermione answered with equal strength. "I acquiesced to your request to interview our prisoner out of respect for your position. It was, however, against my better judgement and, as clearly demonstrated, has had dire consequences."

"I will remind you—" Tiberius began, but Hermione would have none of it.

"No, I will remind you," she interjected, now standing from her seat at the table, "that you are the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and your authority ends there. I, however, am the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. These are my Aurors, this is my responsibility, and we," she continued with a gesture towards Harry and Draco, "have work to do. Your presence here is currently a distraction, and as such, I must ask that you please leave."

There were no words to describe the absolute look of stunned bewilderment on the face of Tiberius Mourdim. It was beyond evident that he had not been spoken to in such a manner in quite a long time, if ever at all. An expression of insult, disgust, contemplation, and finally humor transitioned from one to the other in seamless fashion before the old sorcerer regulated himself to a simply laugh.

"The Ministry has certainly left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in good hands," he conceded.

"I believe we have," Kingsley agreed proudly. "Shall I see you out?"

"Please," Tiberius answered.

Together, Kingsley and Tiberius made their way towards the threshold before Tiberius stopped and turned back.

"If I may," he offered. "As much as I commend the efforts of Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, I disagree with the assertion that such an escape could have been accomplished on the skills of one wizard alone, regardless of how legendary said skills might be."

"Do you have any information to offer?" Hermione asked with growing impatience.

"As I was left unconscious, I'm afraid it would be nothing more than conjecture really," Tiberius answered.

"Do please share this conjecture," Draco invited with a drawling tone.

"I simply cannot dismiss the feeling there may have been someone else within the room," Tiberius offered as if thinking aloud.

"You reported you didn't see anyone other than Killian," Harry reiterated.

"Yes," Tiberius agreed. "As I said, just a feeling. Good day to you all," he concluded with a nod before leaving with Kingsley.

As the footsteps faded, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing soundly, Hermione heaved an emotional sigh of relief. The room now relinquished of its tension, she promptly turned her attention to her Aurors, who were themselves only just allowing themselves to breathe.

"Escape?" she asked rhetorically. "Is that what it's being called?"

"Technically, that's what it was," Draco pointed out.

"Hardly just," Hermione argued.

"It's what the Ministry is calling it," Harry clarified. "Tiberius has reported it as such. He claims he arrived at holding cell and found the prisoner free of his bindings. After a failed engagement, the prisoner escaped."

"You can't be serious?" Hermione scoffed. "How can he possibly say that? He must know he's been discovered."

"Discovered by _whom_ ," Lucius mused as he entered the room, his arms folded and a finger to his lips. "To the best of his knowledge, no one witnessed what occurred last night. Tiberius Mourdim can report anything he wishes. It would be the word of the Chief Warlock against the word of a marked criminal."

Lucius' insinuation of Hermione's actions against Killian did not go unnoticed. She wanted to defend herself, but felt it both pointless and unnecessary. There were far more serious issues that needed addressing at the moment.

"I don't understand what just happened," Hermione went on. "Why was he here? Was this all part of whatever little plan you all put together?"

"He arrived with Kingsley," Harry explained.

"Kingsley brought him?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "Did he not know Killian would be here? Does he not know what happened last night?"

"Yes," Harry explained further. "He send an owl ahead. It arrived here just before he did."

"Saying what?" Hermione continued. "That Tiberius is inserting himself into this department?"

"Essentially," Draco confirmed, grabbing a biscuit from the table, putting it to his mouth as if to take a bite before tossing it back with disgust. "Really think it was a good idea to provoke him, do you?"

"What was I to do?" Hermione defended. "Cater to him? Allow him to toss his weight about as if he held some form of rank over me?"

"You could have shown some humility," Draco said.

"I acted in the same manner as I would have regardless of the circumstances," Hermione continued. "He has no authority in this and no right to be here."

"She's right," Harry said, coming to Hermione's defense. "If she had acted any differently, it would have likely seemed suspicious. Challenging Tiberius' authority, odd as it seems, likely presented a very believable front."

"Likely?" Draco scoffed. "Oh, that's rich."

As Hermione's mind raced with potential problems, catastrophic worst case scenarios, and how she would manage to both meet and navigate through said circumstances, a much more immediate concern arose.

"Where's Killian?" she asked.

"Don't worry," Harry assured. "He's in the cellar. Astoria received the owl just in time to hide him away before Tiberius arrived with Kingsley."

"Shouldn't someone get him," Hermione asked on, her need for control emerging as order was quickly slipping through her fingers.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I'll get him."

As Harry went for the door, Lucius drew his wand and gave it a quick flick. In doing so, the door swung closed and locked tight. Harry and Hermione immediately drew their own wands to the ready, setting their sights on Lucius, only to see the arrogant aristocrat causally replace his wand within his customary walking stick.

"I do apologize for the theatrics," he mused as he strode towards his place at the head of the table and sat. "I simply did not wish for you to waste your time."

"Where is he?" Harry asked of Lucius, his brow furled and his wand still drawn.

"He's gone," Lucius answered simply.

"Gone where?" Harry asked on.

"Somewhere safe," Lucius replied as simply and to the point as previous.

Hermione recognized the tempered anger in Harry's expression beginning to crack through his normally calm and even manner. It had been quite some time since she had seen him in such a state. When they were younger, outburst were common, almost expected. But as they grew older, Harry had become the voice of reason, the balance who kept Hermione from the proverbial ledge on more than one occasion. All of that appeared to be falling away at the moment, which, given both their location and company, did not seem promising.

"Lucius, what have you—" Harry began, his voice booming, before Draco stood from the table.

"He didn't do anything," he asserted. "I did."

"You?" Harry continued. "You told me he was in the cellar?"

"Of course I did," Draco admitted. "You wouldn't have allowed him to leave and there wasn't time for a debate on the subject."

"That wasn't the deal," Harry argued. "I agreed to this upon your word that Killian would remain under our care."

"In case it has escaped your watchful eyes," Draco argued in return, "things have changed since we made our little agreement. If Tiberius knew Kingsley was coming here this morning, someone must informed him as such. Which further indicates without question that the Ministry has been infiltrated far beyond our initial concerns. We have no idea who we can trust. For all I know, it was you who tipped him off," he added with a wild gesture towards Harry.

"Now, now children," Lucius sang from his chair as he sipped from his goblet. "Play nice."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Harry asked of Draco, his voice now much calmer as he lowered his wand.

"Who else knew we were coming here?" Draco asked. "Who else could have known? You and I. No one else."

"Draco …" Harry started, but did not conclude his thought.

Gritting his teeth as he leaned over the table, Draco glared at his own reflection in the polished oak.

"Blast it all!" he shouted as he pounded his fist into the grains in frustration. "I know it wasn't you, Potter. Always the Golden Boy. Which makes this all the more impossible because Tiberius did find out. Somehow from someone, he found out."

"What of the Minister?" Lucius suggested, seemingly amused with a scene as it was playing out.

"What of him?" Draco asked.

"Was he not also aware of this meeting?" Lucius went on.

"No," Harry said, dismissing Lucius' insinuation without hesitation. "Not Kingsley. Not that such an accusation needs addressing, why would he send an owl to warn us if he had been the one to inform Tiberius from the start?"

"Did he?" Lucius asked on with a raised eyebrow.

"You know he did," Harry asserted. "You saw the message yourself."

"I did," Lucius agreed. "As such, I am not questioning its existence, nor its author. I am merely posing a question as to whether it was Kingsley himself who sent the owl. Or perhaps …"

"Perhaps his assistant," Draco finished. It appeared as though he was slowly absorbing the point his father was making, albeit not outright. "Which is likely, as it would have been difficult for Kingsley to get a message to the owlery if Tiberius had shown up in his office this morning unannounced."

"I wouldn't think Kingsley would put his trust in someone unworthy of it," Hermione said, finally at a point in the conversation where she felt able to engage.

"Perhaps," Lucius agreed with patronizing reluctance. "However, I would imagine if the scene played out as you have just described," he went on with a nod to Draco, "the Minister was most likely quite pressed and had few options immediately available to him. It would not be beyond reason to believe he was forced to forgo trust for convenience and expedience."

As much as it pained Hermione to acknowledge the sense in Lucius' observations, they were very difficult to argue against. The look of proper arrogance and deviant grin on the face of Lucius made the moment all the more difficult to admit.

"But I agree," Lucius said after a brief and awkward silence. "Not Kingsley and not this assistant, whomever it may be. After all, how could this nameless person have informed Tiberius of this meeting if, upon having been instructed to deliver the previously mentioned letter of warning, he had only just been made aware of it himself?" Placing his goblet back on the table, standing from his chair, and beginning to pace much in the same manner Draco had done in Hermione's room earlier, Lucius appeared to ponder further. "However, the two of you. Now three," he added with a gesture to Hermione. "Kingsley, his assistant … How many more, I wonder. If I may say, it appears your little ship may not be as watertight as you had once believed."

"Ship," Draco grumbled under his breath. "Ship of fools."

Hermione could not have agreed more with Draco's words, nor Lucius' continued observations, despite their pompous presentation. The morning, if nothing else, indicated that whatever was occurring, it was far more than a simple rogue grasping for political gain. It was far reaching and well woven. Most troubling of all, far from finding an area of vulnerability in Tiberius' armor, they had merely discovered how many cracks they had in their own.


	6. Chapter 6 - Diagon Disaster

_Holy mother of everything sacred, this post took a long time1 But there was a reason. I received a new computer at work. This happened without me being able to get everything off of it because I was not expecting it until a few days later. In recent months, I have done most of my writing amidst the slow periods during my overnight shifts at work. So when they took my old computer and gave me a new one, I lost EVERYTHING! Every single chapter I had written, including what I had completed for this one. Worse still, I lost the entire outline for this story, as the only copy I had was the one I wrote while at work._

 _So I have been diligently attempting to recover all of the chapters I have written, and have been relatively successful. But I had to completely redo this chapter, and the outline looks like it is forever lost. There is a lesson in here somewhere, but I am far too depressed to see it right now :/_

 _Anyways, I apologize profusely for the multiple weeks between this post and the previous one. And I do hope this chapter came out as well the second time around as I believe it was going to be the first time through._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Six -_

 _Diagon Disaster_

Little was accomplished after Kingsley escorted Tiberius from the grounds of Malfoy Manor under the guise of allowing Hermione and her Aurors to continue their investigation free of any uninvited outside interference. However, with Killian now gone, his whereabouts known only to the Malfoys, there was barely a starting point for any investigation to begin, let alone to carry on with any hope of success.

With little else to accomplish, an informal agreement was made upon which Hermione, Harry, and Draco would keep their eyes and ears open within the Ministry. An aggressive approach would be both futile and potentially damaging, not only to the already shaky reputation the Ministry currently held within the wizarding community, but to themselves as well. Politics had always been and will always be a breeding ground for the strongest of allies as well as the fiercest of enemies. Creating an adversary in Tiberius, or letting on that his actions had been discovered, was a cauldron of chaos Hermione wished to avoid at any cost. At least until she was more certain just how far the Chief Warlock's traitorous web had woven its way through the fabrics of the Ministry.

Now free to return to her life, or as best she could given everything that had occurred over the previous twenty four hours or so, Hermione left with Harry to meet up with Ginny, the children, and the Weasleys. It was meant to be a holiday of sorts, although they had no intentions of travel. Instead it would be a simple opportunity to enjoy each other's company, much like they had many years before when they played on the fantasy that life was so much more normal than it actually was.

The following morning found them all in Diagon Alley, walking the crowded bustling streets, glancing through shop windows, and taking in the open air that smelled of licorice, taffy, pine, and soot. Ron had left the group for a bit to tend to some issues at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George. Ginny and Angelina were off exchanging stories about motherhood while escaping, if even for a moment, those of whom the stories were based. In truth, it was a well-earned break and they each deserved it far more than anyone knew.

Arthur and Molly, on the other hand, reveled in the company of their five grandchildren, all walking hand in hand together; young Fred and Roxanne, James, Albus, and little Lily. Together the young children all gasped in awe as their grandparents escorted them along, pointing out the Olivander's, Gambol and Japes, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and other such areas that would one day make up a significant part of their young lives when they come of age to attend Hogwarts. It was impossible not to feel a warmth in one's heart seeing the innocence in their eyes and wonderment on their faces.

With everyone else occupied, Hermione and Harry lagged behind. Harry, like Ginny, enjoyed the momentary relief of parental responsibilities while Hermione simply looked on with a touch of tempered jealously of a life she currently did not have for herself. She was not ready. It is what she had told herself countless times before. Even so, it was such a pretty picture.

"So what are your thoughts?" Hermione asked as they walked along a good distance behind Arthur, Molly, and the children.

"About?" Harry asked in return.

"About what happened?" Hermione clarified. "About Tiberius, about the Ministry, about everything. What you do think?"

Harry laughed to himself, then looked to the sky with a sigh. "I think I would like to not think about it right now?"

"There has to be more to it," Hermione went on, ignoring Harry sentiment entirely. "More than just political, I mean. In most cases, political aspirations would be more than adequate in regards to explaining such actions. However, in this case, if for nothing more than the manner in which it has been executed thus far, a rise in rank seems far too insignificant a prize."

"Are you really going to make me work today?" Harry groaned with a smirk.

"Not work," Hermione explained with a grin of her own as she nudged Harry in the ribs. "Just talk."

"You do know that people say conversations with you can be more exhausting than actual physical labor, right?" Harry teased.

"Who says that?" Hermione gasped with feigned insult.

"Really?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh come on," Hermione went on, this time slapping Harry across the shoulder as they continued down the path. "You can't tell me you haven't been thinking about it. Doesn't it strike you at all as curious?"

"Which part?" Harry asked with genuine surprise.

"Why Killian, for instance?" Hermione answered with another question of her own.

"Why Killian what?" Harry asked, more dumfounded than surprised.

"Why go after Killian?" Hermione explained.

"Technically, I believe it was the other way around," Harry pointed out.

"I'm not talking about that," Hermione clarified. "I mean after. Think about it. As far as Tiberius was aware, Killian had been arrested. He was detained, restrained, and under guard. So why would Tiberius then make an attempt on his life?"

"Killian attacked a politician," Harry said. "Revenge is in their nature."

"I'm being serious," Hermione chastised.

"So am I," Harry defended, albeit with a laugh. "But all right, I'll play along. You think there was another motivating factor involved. Like what?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "But Tiberius mentioned that Killian had been a thorn in his side. Not really something one would say to another over a simple assault, is it?"

"No," Harry agreed. "Definitely not the first thing that would come to my mind. Still," he went on, "that's hardly evidence of anything out of the ordinary."

"Outside of treason, that is," Hermione pointed out.

"Right," Harry clarified. "Outside of treason."

Hermione and Harry paused in front of Gringotts as Arthur, Molly, and the children all filed into Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for a sweet treat. Hermione had no taste for it at the moment and Harry already knew how rambunctious his children could be without a surge of sugar coursing through their veins. As such, he felt no need to experience the aftermath of sticky fingers and glassy wide eyes after several ice cream sundaes. That was what grandparents were for, after all.

"It just doesn't make sense, is all," Hermione went on, leaning up against one of the ornate marble columns that decorated the face of the wizarding bank. "If Killian was incarcerated, why would he go after him. So boldly, as well. Why take that chance? What sort of threat would Killian still pose to him?"

"We're talking about the same Killian, right?" Harry asked with another raised eyebrow.

Hermione crinkled her nose at the comment. "I'm aware of his reputation," she went on. "However, Tiberius appeared very confident upon seeing Killian in chains. Overly confident. If such minor restraints offered him a sense of security, certainly Azkeban would offer even more so."

"Didn't you say Tiberius called Azkeban a glorified museum?" Harry pointed out. "That it wouldn't be a week before Killian escaped?"

"A day," Hermione corrected under her breath as she kicked a few stones by her feet. "But essentially yes."

Harry was right. Tiberius, however arrogant he presented himself, did mention that Azkeban did not have the ability to contain Killian. Even if he could not manage an escape on his own, there was little doubt the other two thirds or the Triad would find a way. Altimus and Wraith were beyond loyal and the fierceness in which they handled themselves was beyond imagination. Or so the stories went. Hermione was certain many of them had been exaggerated to the level of mythical status, but that did not mean they were any less rooted in truth.

"What is it?" Harry asked, clearly recognizing Hermione's doubt.

"Nothing," Hermione answered, although not entirely truthfully. "You're right. If Tiberius believed Killian would escape Azkeban, it would give him motive to eliminate the threat. Still though …"

"Still though?" Harry pressed.

"Something Tiberius said still bothers me," Hermione explained. "Is death truly the end?"

Harry nodded. "Right … And something about how much strength lies in a name. Look, Hermione, I can agree to a point," he said. "There is power in a name. But if you're worried that this cryptic comment about deathly truly being the end … Voldemort is gone. Whatever afterlife he's in, it's not here. And I would know, wouldn't I?"

"I would think so," Hermione agreed. "Only I don't feel like he was referring to Voldemort."

Harry appeared taken aback by the notion. "What do you mean?"

"We live in a world of chaos," Hermione recited. " _He_ feeds on chaos."

This time, Harry had nothing to say, nothing to add, no question to follow. He simple stared at Hermione with his head cocked slightly to the side, his brow pressed inwards towards the center of his face as he pondered the statement.

"That's what Tiberius said to Killian," Hermione clarified.

"You didn't say that before," Harry said.

"It didn't seem particularly relevant," Hermione explained. "Just bravado. But if you had to describe Voldemort as feeding on anything, what would it be?"

"Power …" Harry offered. "Control."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Not chaos."

"No," Harry said. "Voldemort wished to bring order to the world. A dark and twisted order," he quickly clarified, "but order nonetheless. So what then? You think he was speaking of someone else?"

"I don't know?" Hermione admitted. "But I believe Killian does."

Harry suddenly placed his hand on his forehead, rubbing it curiously.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I'm fi—"

Before Harry could complete his thought, an explosion of sounds and screams erupted from the vicinity of Knockturn Alley. The two of them cross the street, their wands instinctively at the ready as a horde of the less than proper patrons of the street's dark and nefarious wares began to wash out into Diagon Alley with haste in their step and fear in their eyes.

A moment later, several individuals in dark hooded robes and cloaks exited Knockturn Alley as well, pushing and fighting their way through the masses that had bottled up the intersection. Their faces were completely masked in the shadows of their hoods, kept even more from view as they kept their heads down as they vanished in a streams of mist that tailed away before they reappeared again only a few feet from where they started with an odd flicker.

Powerful blasts of energy screamed through the air around them; jinxes and curses of unimaginable power in a cycle of attacking their pursuers whilst defending themselves from the same. As Hermione and Harry rushed into the melee, two familiar faces appeared from the mass of people making their exodus from that dark alley of Dark magic and ill-gotten goods.

"Harry look!" Hermione shouted as Altimus appeared within the melee, firing bolts of energy from his wand.

Soon to follow was Wraith, leaping through the air, her melded bow finding her marks with her merciless precision.

Now lost in the bedlam, it was all Harry and Hermione could do to keep the people around them safe as the battle raged on between the two members of the Triad and whomever hid beneath the hoods. Worse still, Harry was now clawing at his forehead, falling to one knee in the process.

As Hermione made her way to him, her focus was drawn elsewhere as patrons funneled out of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor to avoid the swirling inferno that suddenly appeared from within. Arthur and Molly had drawn their wands, doing their best to shield their grandchildren from the wild jinxes that ricocheted off of the streets and walls all around them as well as the shrapnel that sliced through the air with every expulsion of shrieking energy.

Bursting through the onslaught of fire, smoke, and endless attacks and rebounds, Hermione was struck by an errant jinx that sent her crashing to the ground. As she struggled to find her bearings, a resounding explosion separate Arthur and Molly from the children. Several more wild curses followed, screaming towards the terrified younglings. As their eyes widened, their tiny screams drowned into silence by the sea of sounds encompassing the area, Killian suddenly Apparated aside them and deflected the curses away. With a sweep of his staff a torrent of water and air snaked through the burning interiors of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor as well as several adjacent building that inherited its fires, dousing the flames and absorbing the smoke within a vortex that swirled its way thought back out through the shattered storefront windows before scaling into the sky where it dissipated harmlessly throughout the heavens.

Now with an open path, Hermione and Harry ran to the children as Arthur and Molly did the same.

"Are you all right," Harry cried as he smothered his sons and daughter in his embrace. "Are you hurt?" he continued, examining them each as he ran his fingers across their faces and drew the close to him.

"We have to get them off the street, Harry," Hermione said, shielding Fred and Roxanne within an embrace of her own.

"Yes, yes," Molly agreed frantically. "Come on children, inside with you, inside. You too, Arthur," she insisted, waving her husband along.

But Arthur did not move. Instead, his eyes fixated towards the street.

"Merlin's beard …" he said, his words barely a tremble from his lips.

Hermione followed his line of sight and the reasoning behind Arthur's stunned reaction became immediately clear.

With the immediate danger now eradicated, the people in the streets began to take shelter within the burnt-out buildings. In their absence, a crawl of smoke rippled like water as it passed along the ground before rolling upon itself and falling away. As it faded into nothingness, it revealed an imposing figure who stood silently in the center of the intersection. This individual, like the others, was cloaked in dark robes. In place of a hood, however, he wore an ebony helmet adorned with silver mail, his face obscured behind a mask of polished jade. In his hand he carried a macabre staff adorned with a strange skull with twisting horns and jagged teeth.

The moment the figure appeared, Hermione saw Harry once again flinch and grasp at his forehead.

"Get them inside," he said to Arthur and Molly. "Now!"

"Yes," Arthur agreed, snapping from his amalgamated trance of horror and fascination. "Yes, I think you're right."

Hermione turned to Killian, who had said nothing to this point, finding the area in which he had stood only seconds before now devoid of his presence. Returning her gaze to the street as Arthur and Molly guided the children to safety, she saw Killian, joined by Wraith and Altimus, walking with purpose towards sorcerer who appeared amidst the chaos.

Slowly, the cloaked wizards whom had been receiving a thorough pummeling at the hands of the Triad rose to their feet and joined the ominous individual whose presence physically and metaphorically towered over all other present. At they stood there, Hermione again noticed the strange flicker in their appearance.

"Hey," Altimus greeted the newcomer as the Triad stood before the gathered crew of Dark wizards. "Heard you had a special event going on. What must he have offered for you to drag yourself all the way out here, I wonder."

The sorcerer in the jade mask offered no reply. But even in his silence, Hermione could sense the intense animosity bleeding through. Striking his macabre staff into the ground, several dark orbs swirled about, striking each of the cloaked figures in their chest and resulting in visual effect much like striking dust from one's clothing. The strange flicker immediately ceased and each drew their wands upon the Triad, who drew their weapons in return.

"Stop!" Hermione shouted, her wand drawn as well as she and Harry quickly joined the Triad in the street.

"Come to join in?" Altimus asked with a grin. "More the merrier, I say."

The tense standoff continued for a moment, neither side seemingly willing to cast the first stone. Then, the sorcerer in the jade mask raised his hand, quickly clenching it into a fist. One by one, the cloaked figured Disappeared before he too, followed in kind.

Hermione looked to Killian, whose focus remained fixed upon the now empty area in the street. He knew Hermione was standing there. He had heard her voice, he could sense her presence. She knew it. She felt it. Even so, he did not turn to her. Closing his eyes, he vanished in a wisp of mist that quickly dissipated in the breeze.

Without a word, Wraith was gone as well. Altimus, however, seemed more than willing to address Hermione and Harry, turning to them with the same amused expression Hermione has always remembered.

"Timing's not so great right now," he began, "but once our calendar clears up, we all got to get together. Toss a few back, yeah?"

With a wink and a smile, Altimus vanished, leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the street staring on in astonished bewilderment. Harry turned to Hermione. His expression could not have represented Hermione's feelings any better, even before any words escaped his mouth.

"What. Just. Happened?"


	7. Chapter 7 - Purple Gloves & Fairy Tales

_Another post is finally up. There is quite a lot jammed into this one. Probably could have broken it up into two or three chapters. Probably should have. Oh, well ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Seven -_

 _Purple Gloves and Fairytales_

The streets of Diagon Alley were soon smothered with an array of Ministry officials, Aurors, and members of the Unified Architects of Magical Construction, the latter of whom were working diligently to repair the extensive damage that occurred during the confrontation between the Triad and whomever hid beneath the cloaks. The Aurors were busy interviewing witnesses, some whom seemed relatively reliable, others whom either saw nothing helpful to any investigation, while still others offered wild stories meant more to either glorify themselves in the retelling or add to the mystique of the Triad and their vigilante practices.

Ginny, Angelina, George, and Ron arrived on the scene shortly after the conflict dissipated, having heard the commotion and fearing the worst. While relived their family and friends were unharmed, there was a great concern in that there was harmed to be had in the first place. None more so than Ginny, who railed on about how such a thing could occur and why the Ministry seemed to be at such a loss regarding the identity of the perpetrators.

"You cannot tell me a mob like that came into being overnight," she said, holding Lily in her arms as her young daughter clung to her in the confines of an upper-floor room in the Leaky Cauldron.

"I'm not saying it did," Harry said, clearly frustrated with both what had occurred as well as how it was being handled. "It's just …" he went on and then stopped. "We just …" he started again to the same effect before cursing under his breath and swiping his hand across the table in frustration.

"Hermione," Ginny pressed. "There has to be more to this. I can understand why Harry might not be entirely informed, but you're head of the department. You must know something."

Harry, already attempting to temper his anger as much as possible given the circumstances, cast a narrow eye towards his wife for the insinuation of his rank and access. But Hermione knew Ginny's remark was not meant as a slight. It was nothing more than a mother looking for answers as to why her children had only just escaped a firestorm. Even in not being a mother herself, Hermione could understand how, in such a situation, one's words might not come out as intended.

"I'm sorry, but Harry is correct," Hermione said in defense of her best Auror. "Unfortunately, this event caught us entirely unaware. But I promise you, we will discover who they are and they will answer for it."

"Triad knows who they are," George spoke up, having just entered the room.

"And where are you coming from?" Hermione asked.

"When did you leave?" Ron followed up.

"Stepped out while you all were bickering it up," George answered. "Figured I'd get me a look at everything. Maybe have a conversation or two."

"You spoke with witnesses?" Hermione chastised. "George, you could compromise the entire investigation!"

"Not likely," George dismissed. "Have you heard any of them stories out there? Rubbish if you ask me."

"Even so," Hermione continued. "Investigations have a process. And outside interference can—"

"Maybe if there had better investigating prior, none of this would have happened," Angelina snipped.

"Hold your venom ladies, if you please," George intervened, his hands raised in an attempt to calm the room. "No reason to get all up in a twist. As it is, I didn't actually do any interrogating. More along the lines of listening is all. Heard old Altimus knew the guy with the stick."

"Knew him?" Ginny asked.

"Said something to him," George clarified. "Like they had a history."

"So the Triad knows who these people are, but the Ministry is in the dark," Ginny said accusingly. "That's comforting."

"The Triad, Angelina scoffed. "For all we know, the Triad was responsible for what happened."

"What did I just say about venom?" George said, cocking his head towards his wife. "Way I heard it, if not for Killian, our little tots would have been jelly on the cobblestone."

"George!" Molly chastised.

"It's true, isn't it," George defended. "I'm just saying a bit of gratitude would be nice, is all."

"That Killian was a friend of yours," Angelina said with folded arms. "Not mine. I thought he was trouble back in school, and I think no differently now."

"Be that as it may," Arthur chimed in, "George is right. I don't particularly care what the Prophet writes about this Triad or anyone within it. My grandchildren are safe at this moment. To me, against all else, that is the most important thing. And if Killian were here right now … Well, I believe I would very much like to shake his hand."

Hermione thought of the look on Killian's face were he to be approached by Arthur with an extended hand; the complete and utter lack of comfort that would, no doubt, be etched in his expression. Or worse, should Molly throw her arms around him in a smothering embrace, thanking him for the lives of her grandchildren. The vision was almost humorous. But humor was far from Hermione's consciousness at the moment. She currently felt less like laughing and more like hiding as she defended one attack after another against her position or those who served under her command.

Again, she knew these barbs were not meant to cut nor had any malicious intent. Even so, that did little to dull the sting. Nor did Ron's noticable silence throughout the back and forth as Harry and Hermione were overwhelmed with questions and accusations from Ginny and Angelina.

"You're right," Angelina conceded, agreeing with Arthur's assessment as her eyes softening and her scowl washing away in place of an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," she went on as she wrapped her arms around George and lay her head upon his chest. "I'm just rattled, is all. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"Of course not, luv," George said, embracing his wife with a silly grin. "But I'll be your punching bag if you need it."

Ginny then turned to Harry, who was still quietly venting his frustrations as he stared out a window in the far corner of the room.

"I'm sorry too," she said, crossing the room and placing her arms around her husband's waist. "I know you're trying. Both of you," she added with a glance towards Hermione. "Today was just … It was just bad. And not knowing who they were, where they came from, what they want …"

"I know," Harry said, taking Ginny hands and cupping them within his. "And we will figure this out. Whatever it is they're doing, we'll stop it. I promise you."

Harry then drew Ginny's hands, still balled within his, to his lips. Not to kiss, only just to feel their warmth. It was sight that imbued another tinge of jealousy in Hermione she could only barely understand. Looking to Ron, she saw him standing near his parents, who were tending to their grandchildren. After another look towards Harry and Ginny then George and Angelina, both couples sharing a moment of comfort, Hermione felt suddenly out of place and left the room.

Once in the hall, Hermione leaned against the wall near the top of the stairs. She could hear the banter of conversations on the floor below, individuals speaking of what had occurred, who was responsible, and how foolish the Ministry appeared in all of it. A sense of worn and weary tiredness washed over her with a sweeping wave. She closed her eyes and wished for just a moment of peace, a warm bed, silken pajamas, a comforting embrace, the touch of his skin …

"Hey Hermione," came Ron's voice.

Jolted back into reality and desperately attempting to cover her blushing cheeks, Hermione turned away, blinking hard several times, before looking back to Ron.

"Everything all right?" Ron asked with his arms folded uncomfortably as he seemed undecided on whether he wished to stand upright or join Hermione in her lean against the cracked plaster walls.

"Not really," Hermione answered.

"I mean, I know it's bad with, you know, whatever happened out there," Ron clarified. "I meant more with you. Wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine," Hermione answered, her tone far more dismissive than she had intended.

"That's good," Ron said, now deciding that a lean was the better of his two options. "Got kinda bad in there, yeah?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, even more dismissively than before. "Could have used a little support."

"Aw you don't need to worry," Ron assured with a wave. "George has got your back. Harry too. You know he always does."

"I wasn't speaking of Harry and George," Hermione pointed out, now staring at the gaps in the aged and warped floorboards beneath her feet.

"Oh," Ron said, gulping hard and scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't really know … I mean …" he bumbled on. "I would have—"

Before Ron could continue, he was interrupted by the hurried arrival of Draco as he climbed the stairs at a quickened pace.

"Where's Harry?" he asked.

"In there," Hermione answered with a gesture through the doorway.

"Grab him," Draco went on with urgency in both his tone and mannerism. "We need to go."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "What's wrong?"

"Those mercenaries you hired have discovered where it all started," Draco explained. "I figured we might want to get there before they break something … Or someone," he punctuated with a sneering smirk.

Dismissing the quip, Hermione called to Harry before turning back to Ron.

"I have to go," she said.

"Yeah, right, of course," Ron agreed, placing his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Be careful though, yeah."

Hermione offered a smile in return that should not have felt as forced as it did as she, Harry, and Draco descended the stairs and reentered Diagon Alley.

Sifting through array of Aurors, workers, witnesses, and gawkers the trio passed through the area where the standoff took place and made their way down the dark narrow corridor of Knockturn Alley.

"In here," Draco said once they reached Plunders' House of Rootwork and Conjurations, one of the lesser known shops within the seedy district.

As they entered, they saw four brutish wizards near the back, one of whom had the head of a wiry haired old man pinned to counter as the others stood by, laughing with amusement.

"Just tell us who them buggers were," the one brute said as he pressed firmly on the back of the elderly man's neck. "That, and where they set off to, and we'll be on our way. Promise."

"Fascinating technique your boys have," Draco chided Hermione. "Brutal, yet oh so polite."

"Enough!" Hermione shouted to the hired hands of the Ministry, ignoring Draco's remark as best she could. "Stand down!"

Immediately the four wizards stopped and stepped back from counter, looking over towards Hermione like children who had been caught misbehaving. Given their size and appearance, it was almost comical to see.

"What is going on here?" Hermione continued in a commanding tone.

"We were just following orders," the one said.

"What orders?" Hermione asked as she, Harry, and Draco approached.

"We were to find out who knows what," another answered.

"By any means necessary, we were told," the first one continued. "And report it back to the Chief Warlock."

This revelation brought a grumble from Draco, though he showed a great deal a restraint in saying nothing.

"And who gave these orders?" Hermione demanded.

"The Chief Warlock," the second wizard answered as if Hermione should have already known.

"Oh that's just brilliant then, isn't it?" Draco scoffed a she threw his hand in the air with disgust before turning away. Clearly his restraint had its limits.

"You are dismissed," Hermione instructed after a cleansing breath to temper her own limited restraint. "All of you."

Without a word, the four hulking wizards filed out of the shop and disappeared down the street. Hermione then turned to Harry, who had been noticeably quiet since they had entered the establishment. Although holding his tongue, the raised brow and telling way in which he was biting his lower lip more than adequately communicated his thoughts.

"Something to say?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing at all," Harry answered with a grin as he joined Draco in perusing the shop. "They do brilliant work. Glad to have them on the team."

Still staring daggers at Harry, Hermione approached the old man at the counter.

"Are you all right," she asked as the shop's proprietor smoothed back his thin grey hairs and adjusted his shirt collar and tie, all the while his hands still shaking from the ordeal.

"Quite, thank you," he answered. "But I can tell you no more than I could tell them."

"First," Hermione began, believing it best to make an attempt at a fresh start if there was any possible hope for a positive outcome, "I wish to apologize for their actions. Such behavior is not tolerated within the Ministry and I promise you it will be handled appropriately."

"For as much good as that will do," the man said with doubt.

"I understand your frustration, Mr. …?" Hermione led.

"Plunders … Caliday Plunders."

"Mr. Plunders," Hermione continued. "So this is your establishment?"

"It is?" Plunders answered. "An honest and respectable establishment of rare ingredients and unique artifacts. And quite peaceful until today."

"Honest and respectable?" Harry asked, displaying a Liar's Torment dangling from an aged leather strap. Said talisman of Occlumency allows its owner to purge the mind of an individual of dishonest intent, revealing secrets, often financial, that the individual would most definitely wish to keep buried. To that end, this Dark artifact, banned by the Ministry, had been used in numerous crimes, often leaving the victim destitute and unknowing of how, exactly, they had been undone.

"Point of views can be tricky," Draco mused aloud.

"I imagine so," Harry agreed.

"If you would please not handle the merchandise," Plunders scolded. "It is very valuable and extremely delicate."

"Unless you would like the Ministry handling each and every piece of merchandise within your shop as well as going over your books with a fine toothcomb," Hermione warned, "I would mind your tone. A man in your position should do his best to cooperate in lieu of drawing unwanted attention, don't you think?"

"I was merely saying—" Plunder's began defensively, but Hermione spoke up quickly to regain control of the conversation.

"You were merely saying whom it was under those hoods," she offered. "As well as why they were here and what intention they have moving forward."

"Do you honestly believe I know the names and intentions of every person who walks through my door?" Plunders asked, nervously wringing his fingers.

"I imagine these individuals might stick out a bit from the rest," Draco suggested as he approached the counter. "A bit more dodgy with the cloaks and all."

"Dodgy?' Plunder scoffed. "Have you looked around? This isn't exactly the High Street of London! You must be mad!"

As Hermione continued to question the elderly proprietor, she noticed Harry looking over the various shelves and cabinets within the store. He had been examining different artifacts such as the Liar's Torment, as well as ingredients for potions of immoral intentions, scrolls of binding and hexing effects, and other such items.

Suddenly stopping, he grabbed small rectangular card sitting in front of an empty display before joining Hermione and Draco near the counter.

"It appears that someone has recently purchased your Spiorad Druma," he said, presenting the card to Plunders. "Wouldn't have been one of our friends now, would it?"

The old man stared at Harry, the anxiety in his eyes increasing. "I c-cannot say," he stuttered, shaking his head, his eyes wide as saucers. "Please … He w-will kill me."

"Who?" Harry asked. "The sorcerer with the staff?"

"No," Plunder's answered. "He is merely the shadow of a far greater darkness."

"Then who?" Hermione pressed.

"Please, I beg you," Plunders cried. "The Spiorad Druma does not even work. It merely mutters sounds. He will not find what he seeks with it."

"Whatever fears you may have," Hermione offered reassuringly, "I promise you, the Ministry will keep you safe."

"Safe?" Plunders scoffed with a trembling laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?" He then shook his head. "No," he said definitively, starring at his hands, then glancing about his shop. "I've said too much already. I implore you, for your own sakes, leave this alone."

An instant later, Caliday Plunders Disapperated, leaving Hermione, Harry, and Draco staring at a vacant space behind the counter.

"Well," Draco said, gritting his teeth in frustration. "That was … not very … Oh, blast it all!" he punctuated, slamming his hand down on the table before whirling away and exiting the shop.

"So what now?" Harry asked of Hermione. "Come back tomorrow and try again?"

"I very much doubt Mr. Plunders will be returning any time soon," Hermione answered dejectedly. She then looked to the door. "You should go after, Draco. We need to clean up this mess. Still have a lot of work to do."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I guess that's the diplomatic way of putting it.

As he began for the door, Hermione called after him.

"Harry …"

"Yeah," Harry answered.

"I didn't mention this before because I didn't wish to alarm Ginny," Hermione began cautiously. "But before … When this all started … You reached for your forehead. For your scar."

"Hermione, it was nothing," Harry dismissed.

"When they poured into the streets, I watched you fall to a knee," Hermione argued.

"I was struck in the leg," Harry explained, displaying a scorched area of material just below his knee.

"Oh," Hermione said, albeit still not convinced. "But still, you reached for your scar."

"It hurt a bit, yeah," Harry finally acknowledged. "But nothing like before. More of a sting, is all."

"Does that mean something?" Hermione asked, although she was not entirely certain if she was asking Harry or herself.

"I don't know," Harry answered.

. . .

Later that night, Hermione sat at her desk in her office within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was drained and exhausted from the day's events, but there was still so much work to be done before she could call it a day. Pouring through tome after tome, she found nothing of this Spiorad Druma artifact Caliday Plunders had in his shop. At the same moment, Harry and Draco were in their office searching as well and, to the best of her knowledge, had found the pursuit as fruitless as she.

She looked down at her desk. Documents, books, vials of various liquids, and numerous blank pieces of parchment littered the area. In an attempt to tidy the clutter, she came across several scraps she had scribed upon while mustering up the courage to question and evaluate Killian the night he had been brought into custody.

On one piece of parchment she had written her name over and over, passing the time as her will battled her consciousness. _Hermione Granger._ It was scribed in her usual penmanship. She had been writing that name for all her life. Altogether, it had always felt natural.

On a second piece of parchment she had written another name several times in succession. _Hermione Weasley._ It was not quite as delicately penned. She remembered when she first realized she would become a Weasley. How excited she was after Ron proposed. How she spent hours writing her new name over and over again, practicing until it felt natural. It never quite reached that point.

On a third piece of parchment there was yet another name. She had written it only once, but it was a vision of perfection, of happiness, of hope … _Hermione Finn._

Hermione now stared at the name of a woman who never existed, wondering what had compelled her to write it in the first place. It was a simple silly little fiction better suited for simple silly little schoolgirls. Hermione should have been above such things. She held herself to a higher standard.

In a burst of anguish and anger she grasped the parchment, crumpled it in her hands, and turned to toss it into the burning embers of the fireplace. It made no sense for her to dwell on such a fiction. With a flick of her wrist, the balled up parchment left her hand and bounced off the hearth, rebounding back towards her feet. Accuracy without a wand had never been her strong point.

She reached down, picked it up, and stood. Easier to just place it in the embers herself. As she took a step toward the fireplace, however, she paused. Retreating to her desk, she sat and straightened the parchment with her hands. _Hermione Finn._ She allowed herself the slightest of smiles as she rested her head in her hand. It was a silly fiction. Nothing more. Still … What a wonderful fiction it was.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione then noticed Winston down the hall and speaking to, of all people, Lucius Malfoy. Although she could not hear their conversation, she saw Lucius pass a small pachage to Winston before they parted ways. On his way out, Lucius offered a nod of departure to Hermione, confirming he was very aware she had seen him. Although her relationship with Draco was not the same as it had been when they were in school, the same did not hold true for Lucius. His presence raised in Hermione enough suspicion she felt compelled to confront Winston on it immediately.

Moments later, she was at Winston's door, knocking and giving an appropriate amount of time before entering.

"Miss Granger," Winston greeted warmly. "To what do I owe the surprise?"

Winston Williford had worked within the Ministry since long before Hermione had entered Hogwarts, holding various position, his longest tenure being his current position as little more than a glorified report filer. He had seen a great deal, having served through both Wizarding Wars as well, as best as Hermione could recall, being an Auror during the uprising of Gellert Grindelwald. His career, while long, was at the same time very quiet. The old sorcerer kept to himself mostly, playing well to the part of being seen often but rarely heard from to more than the extent of a friendly greeting or departure. This, more than anything, set him apart from the average individual within the employ of the Ministry.

"I just thought I'd stop by," Hermione said. "I noticed you speaking with Mr. Malfoy just now."

"Ah yes," Winston said. "Old friends, as it were. Catching up a bit."

Winston still held the small package, a rectangular box, in his hand, glancing at it inconspicuously as he paced his office and straightened his long coat that still hung on the hook alongside his hat near the door.

Now in the office, Hermione looked around. It appeared as usual; piles of parchments upon stacks of books amidst partially burnt candles. The walls were lined with dozens of cabinets, some opened, some closed, but all containing decades of forms and reports detailing the ongoing within the Ministry. Amidst all the chaos, however, there was a strange sense of order. And the welcoming smile and personality of the employee who called the area home in an odd way made the environment all the more comforting.

"Would it be too intrusive to ask what about?" Hermione asked. "It's a bit late for a random bit of catching up, is it not?"

"If you only knew," Winston said with another warm, albeit almost regretful smile.

"Is everything all right, Winston?" Hermione asked on, now even more concerned over what she had seen in the hall.

"Oh yes," Winston assured. "Quite all right. Just an old man's musings, is all. Nothing to pay any amount of attention."

Hermione now almost felt a sense of pity towards the elderly sorcerer. He had never been anything short of kind to her and this sudden suspicion now riddled her with guilt. A sense of guilt that would soon wash away, however, as she noticed the corner of a particular parchment peeking out of one of the piles occupying Winston's aged and pitted oaken desk.

"Winston," she asked, grasping the parchment and glancing over Tiberius Mourdim's request to interrogate Killian. "What is this?"

Winston did not answer immediately. Instead he offered a sigh and another regretful smile. "I had intended on telling you," he finally answered. "When the moment was right."

"It was you," Hermione said, mentally putting the pieces together in disbelief. "You intercepted this request from Tiberius. You kept this from me. Why?"

At that moment, Hermione caught a glimpse of something else. Something that sent a cold shiver down her spine and stole both her words and her breath, leaving her speechless and frozen with shock and irrational fear. On the floor aside the door where Winston's coat and hat hung together was a brown leather satchel. Atop the satchel lay a pair of gloves, deep purple in color.

Winston seemed immediately aware of Hermione's gaze, his expression doing little to hide his enlightenment. With another sigh, he turned away, opening the small box he had obtained from Lucius, placing its contents in his mouth, and swallowing hard.

"Watchers ever watching …" he said with a reflective tone. He then turned back to Hermione. "Never to get involved."

"What?" Hermione asked as ghosts from her past returned in force to haunt her in resounding fashion.

"You have no idea how desperately I have wished to say something over the years," Winston said. "Harry … He has suffered for so long, given so much. He deserves to know the truth of it all."

"The truth?" Hermione asked.

"And you, Miss Granger," Winston continued as if deaf to Hermione's inquiry. "I've seen you accomplish such wonderous things. Truly wondrous. You needed to be made aware of what was occurring."

"Are you speaking of Tiberius?" Hermione asked.

"Like the lord who brandished the macabre staff and his minions who preyed upon the people in Diagon Alley, Tiberius is merely the lightning before the storm," Winston answered. "Greater threats lay ahead, I'm afraid. Threats beyond your knowledge, beyond your world. Threats that—"

Winston cut off, grasping his chest and choking down a cough before straightening up and forcing another smile.

"Threats?" Hermione pressed. "What kind of threats? What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever wondered why it was so difficult to apprehend the Hunter?" Winston asked. "Like a ghost, he would vanish, only to reappear when the circumstances best suited his purpose?"

Again, Winston grasped his chest, massaging his sternum and gritting his teeth with an expression of distress.

"Are you all right," Hermione asked, approaching Winston and placing her hand on his arm and shoulder to support him as he hunched over, this time unable to stifle a violent fit of coughing and wheezing.

After a moment and several deep breaths, the episode appeared to have passed, much to Hermione's relief.

"Quite all right, child," Winston assured.

"What do you know of Killian?" Hermione asked, uncertain how safe she felt in continuing, but pursuing just the same. "Where does he go? Do you know where he is now?"

"How noble is this betrayal, I wonder?" Winston seemed to ponder aloud with an airy glance about the room. "It seems it matters little in the end really. However, regardless of my feelings, I will only bend so far. Pride and a lifetime of loyalty can be a terrible prison, even with everything that's at stake. As such, with these borrowed breaths, I will merely point the way. But you, Miss Granger, must follow the path to its end on your own."

"Who are you?" Hermione asked in awed wonder, as if seeing Winston, a man she had known for more than a decade, for the very first time.

"Just a foolish old man," Winston offered. "One who is tired of watching while the world around him spins off into oblivion. A world of which I have grown quite fond. A world I have come to call my home."

With another heave, Winston doubled over, gasping for air as another fit overtook him. Hermione attempted to hold him up, but it was futile as Winston's legs gave out and the entirely of his weight fell upon Hermione. It was all she could do to ease him to the floor as gently as possible. Although how gently said act played out was questionable, as Winston's body was now twitching with spasms throughout his upper torso, his arms tucked into his chest, his hands flailing wildly.

"Winston!" Hermione cried. "Winston, what's wrong?"

The elderly sorcerer looked up at Hermione as she cradled his head in her lap. "D-Draco …" he mumbled through gurgled breaths.

"Draco?" Hermione asked. "You want me to fetch Draco?"

Winston shook his head, attempting to answer but unable to expel the words. "T-Tear … the veil …" he finally forced out as his body went into shock, the red in his face deepening to a darkened hue of blue and purple.

"No, no, no …" Hermione felt the panic she had been attempting to contain burst through and flood her emotions. "Somebody!" she called out to anyone with ears. "Somebody please! We need help!"

As her cries echoed off the empty halls, Winston suddenly reached up, the shaking in his hands having ceased, the color in face having fallen away completely and leaving his complexion a skeletal grey. He looked at Hermione, his eyes glassy and vacant, but still clinging to the last remaining threads of existence.

"Do you believe in fairy tales, Miss Granger?" he asked with a clarity in his voice that seemed impossible only seconds ago.

Before Hermione could answer, or even begin to decipher whatever meaning was held behind the cryptic question, Winston Williford lay his head to rest for the very last time.


	8. Chapter 8 - Tearing the Veil

_Another post ... And I have to share something. I was reading a random article I came across regarding JK Rowling, Hermione, and Ron. She stated she regretted pairing Hermione with Ron, saying that in reality Ron would never be able to make Hermione happy. In the article, Rowling said she wished she had paired Hermione with Harry instead. For some strange reason, it really made me happy to read. There was always a part of me that felt kind of bad writing a story that changed a relationship that JK Rowling had created. But knowing she regretted it makes it easier. Especially, since her reason for regret is the exact reason I wrote an alternate pairing; Ron would never have been able to make Hermione happy. I personally do not believe Harry would have made her happy either ... But that's just me._

 _Alas, I digress ...Moving on. I hope you enjoy!  
_

 _\- Chapter Eight -_

 _Tearing the Veil_

For the second time that day, Hermione found herself amidst a swarm of Ministry officials as they sealed off the area surrounding Winston's office. The medical examiner had pronounced the elderly sorcerer dead after a brief, but thorough, inspection of the body that now still lay on the cold tiles of his cluttered office floor. While a sheet now covered his features, Hermione could still see the look in his face, the panic and terror coursing through him before the final peace of his soul's release. It was a vision she was certain would haunt for the rest of her life.

After giving her report of what had occurred, as best as she could given the fact she had absolutely no idea what had actually occurred, Hermione stood in the hall outside Winston's office looking on as those inside prepared to move the body.

"Hermione!" came Harry's voice as he pushed through the of staff and officials clogging the area.

Harry threw his arms around Hermione and held her close. All at once, this simple act of comfort and concern broke Hermione completely. The attempts at being stoic and proper in the face of adversity vanished as she wept openly in Harry's arms, her head in his shoulder as she clung to him for every ounce of safety she could siphon away.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said, stroking her back and gently rocking back and forth. "I would have been here sooner, but they blocked off the entire area. What happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "We were just talking. And then … I just … I don't know."

"It's all right," Harry assured as he continued to comfort his lifelong friend as only he could do.

"Sorry," Hermione said, sniffing and pulling back as she tried to subdue her emotions.

"Hermione, it's all right," Harry assured again, still holding her firm as she now rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for his embrace.

"It's just … I've seen death before," Hermione began. "I've watched people die right before my eyes. People murdered … Friends. But not like this. The look on his face, Harry … It was …" Another wave rolled over Hermione and stole her voice.

"Take a breath," Harry offered.

Harry's words awoke another ghost from Hermione's past. Like back then, she took the advice, savoring the cool air as it entered her lungs and exhaling the negative thoughts and emotions, allowing them to evaporate into the ether.

"Better?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a sigh. She straightened up and wiped her eyes. "Much better, thank you."

"So, what happened?" Harry asked.

Hermione glanced at the doorway as two large men barged in white attire carried Winston's body out on a stretcher. She closed her eyes, attempting in vain to banish the vision of his last moments from her consciousness.

"Hermione?" Harry pressed on, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized. "Just um … I … I don't know what happened. We were talking one moment, and in the next moment he was clutching at his chest and gasping."

"What were you talking about?" Harry continued.

"I honestly don't know," Hermione admitted. "Before he … Well … You know …He was babbling on nonsensically."

"Nonsensically?" Harry asked, cocking his head and adjusting his glasses.

"Harry, Winston intercepted Tiberius' request," Hermione explained. Harry's blank expression, however, clearly indicated to Hermione that she needed to be a little less vague. "His request to interview Killian. The one meant to send me away," she clarified.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, now more perplexed than before. "Why?"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered. "He didn't say. He just—"

"Excuse me," came the soft, proper, whisper of a voice.

Hermione and Harry turned to see the medical examiner. He was a tiny little man, almost dwarfish but not quite, his wrinkled forehead even more evident due to his smooth scalp with wild weeds of grey hairs spurting from the sides and back of his head. He carried his bowler cap in one hand and a small rectangular box in the other, displaying the latter to Hermione.

"I believe you might find this to be of interest," he explained. "You had mentioned Mr. Wilford had ingested something just prior to expiring, did you not?"

The terminology, however accurate, turned Hermione's stomach. It seemed so impersonal, almost insulting. Particularly as Winston's body was currently being moved by stretcher only a few feet away.

"What is it?" Harry asked as Hermione took the small container made of worn cardboard.

"This is the package I saw Luciu—" Hermione caught herself before saying too much, forgetting that trust was not a commodity currently in ample supply with the Ministry. "I saw Winston holding," she quickly covered.

"What was in it?" Harry asked on, taking the box and shaking it.

The medical examiner turned the box over in Harry's hand, displaying a word delicately penned into its label. "A bezoar," he said simply before continuing on with his assistants as they carried Winston's body away.

"A bezoar?" Harry asked quizzically, staring at the box as Hermione dragged him to an area less crowded and with far fewer ears.

"Harry, where's Draco?" she asked quietly.

"Still in the office," Harry answered. "Speaking with Lucius."

"Lucius is still here?" Hermione asked on as the muscles in her jaw tensed and her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "What's wrong?"

Hermione snatched the empty box from Harry's hand. "Lucius gave this to Winston," she explained. Seeing little reaction from Harry, once again she realized she would have to push a bit further. "Harry, he poisoned him!"

"No," Harry said in disbelief, albeit it was not a contradiction as much as it was a question in and of itself. "Why would he do something like that?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But I promise you I am going to find out."

Heading off towards Harry and Draco's office with purpose in her strides, strides that forced Harry to partake in and odd walking jog to just to keep up, Hermione's emotions had reached a boiling point. She had no idea what was going to happen once she reached her destination, what she was going to say, nor how it was going to be received. Her only hope was that she could control her rising passions long enough to obtain the answers she sought before she tore Lucius' head from his very body.

"What have you done!" she shouted as she crossed the threshold.

Lucius and Draco, both of whom were standing near his desk, froze before turning their heads towards Hermione and Harry. Draco seemed completely taken aback. Lucius, however, did not appear the same, wearing an arrogantly smug grin and an ominous gleam in his eye.

"Just snagged a cuff," he answered, displaying a small tear in the end of his shirtsleeve. "Right there on the door frame," he added with a gesture to the side of Hermione. "As I was just telling Draco, the Ministry has fallen in quite a state of disrepair. Certainly there must be available funds to—"

"I don't give a damn about your sleeve!" Hermione continued, violently throwing the empty box at Lucius. Or as violently as one could throw an empty cardboard container.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Draco intervened, stepping between Hermione and his father.

"Your father poisoned Winston," Harry explained before Hermione could expel another elevated decibel.

"He what?" Draco scoffed. "You can't be serious?"

"He gave him a poisoned bezoar," Hermione said accusingly. "And do not bother lying," she went on immediately before Lucius could utter I sound in retort. "I saw you myself."

"A poisoned bezoar?" Draco scoffed further. "You're going to poison something meant counter to poison? Is that even possible? Look, I'm sure whatever you think you saw—"

"I'm afraid she is correct?" Lucius interjected, much to Draco's shock.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked with a look of stunned dejection.

"As are you, Draco," Lucius continued. "Poisoning one with an bezoar would not be a very effective means of assassination, now would it? Now, as an antidote, however … Well, that's entirely different."

"So …" Harry began to reason. "… You gave the bezoar to Winston as an antidote?"

"Happily," Lucius answered. "As any upstanding citizen in such a circumstance would have done."

"An antidote for what?" Hermione snapped, having a difficult time believing a word of what Lucius' convenient and seemingly oversimplified explanation. "If he was already poisoned, then by whom?"

"The whom in question would be you, my dear," Lucius answered with another smug and arrogant grin.

"How dare you!" Hermione argued, the insolent insinuation nearly breaking her resolve completely. "You're accusing me of—"

"I make no accusations," Lucius clarified. "A practice, I might add, of which you do not seem to be particularly familiar," he added coyly. "I do, however, have a striking gift for pointing out the painfully obvious to those who do not have the ability to recognize it for themselves."

"Meaning?" Hermione pressed.

"Did you find your conversation with Winston at all enlightening?" Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you know of it?" Hermione asked in return.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Draco spoke up in frustration.

But Hermione's patience was at an end, turning her anger towards the pallid Slytherin. "Do not play stupid with me," she warned. "Winston mentioned you specifically."

"Draco?" Harry asked of Hermione, as if he had not heard properly.

"Me?" Draco asked as well, seemingly as equally as surprised as Harry. "What about me?"

Hermione went to answer, but caught herself, realizing she did not actually have an answer to give. "Nothing of consequence," she finally admitted. "Just your name. As he was choking on his own breath."

"My name? That's it?" Draco asked, glancing between Hermione and Harry. If his unknowing behavior was an act, he was certainly playing it to perfection. "He just spat out my name and popped off?"

"No," Hermione clarified through narrowing eyes.

"Interesting," Lucius mused aloud. "And might I inquire as what else was said?"

Hermione could feel her heart pounding though her chest, its bass resonating in her ears. Was he really asking a question or was it merely a game? A man was dead. A good man, by all rights. And the individual Hermione believed to be responsible for the act now stood on a few feet away, toying with the moment as if a life was little more than a possession to be owned and tossed aside when its usefulness had reached its end.

Even so, a knot of doubt arose in the pit of Hermione's stomach. A sensation that somehow countered her every instinct, yet breached the surface of not only possibility, but inevitability. What if Lucius was telling the truth?

"Tear the veil," she answered slowly and deliberately, having absolutely no way of predicting what was to come of the cryptic revelation nor how it was about to turn her entire reality on its head.

For a moment, it seemed as though the world around Hermione had gone silent and still. The stunned reflection in Draco's eyes and the subtle fusion of shock, panic, fear, and disbelief in his expression that came and went in the fraction of a second between the time it took for the words to hit his ears and those same words to process through his consciousness confirmed Hermione's doubt and challenged her sense of reason. Draco was unknowing, Lucius was innocent … Both being realizations that gave way to an abyss of unsettling questions.

"He said that?" Draco asked. "He said _tear the veil_?"

"Tear the veil," Hermione echoed.

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked.

"Did he say anything else?" Draco asked on, ignoring Harry's inquiry.

"He asked me …" Hermione began but stopped short, collecting her herself once again as the vision of Winston's last breath floated through her mind's eye. "He asked me if I believe in fairy tales?"

Draco's mouth dropped open. But outside of a few unintelligible sounds, no words came of it as he ran his fingers through his hair, turning to his father and shaking his head.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me," he said. "What did … Why did he …" This continued on through several more starts and stops as Draco began to pace before slamming his fist into a pile of parchments on his desk, sending them flying off to catch the air in varying angles of descent. "What the bloody hell have you done?" he shouted at his father.

"What have I done?" Lucius asked with a feigned innocence that would not have fooled a child. "I have done nothing."

"You put him up to it, didn't you?" Draco went on.

"I assure you, Winston came to me," Lucius explained calmly. "I merely offered both my support and a means towards the accomplishment of his wish."

"His wish?" Draco asked indignantly. "If it was his wish, then why didn't he just say it himself? Why take the bezoar just to spout out riddles?"

Harry spoke up in an attempt to interject, but said attempt went either unheard or ignored. Hermione found her own voice suddenly silenced as well, as if she and Harry were merely spectators in a theatre audience as a performance played out before them.

"He made a vow," Lucius explained, a detail Winston himself had offered to Hermione before he fell into a violent fit. "In truth, I am both surprised and unequivocally impressed he went as far as he did."

"And I made a promise!" Draco pointed out. "Does that mean nothing?"

"I'm afraid that is a question you will have to ask yourself," Lucius concluded.

Draco then fired off at another innocent stack of parchments, closing his eyes, and alternating between balling his fists and flexing his fingers. Seizing the moment before another outburst, Hermione went to speak before Lucius' next words cut her short.

"It appears my work here is done," he proclaimed, casually reaching for his coat and draping it over his arm as he began for the door.

The comment was met with a mumbled scoff from Draco, who now leaned over his desk with his palms pressed to the hard surface as he stared at his reflection in the pitted glossy oak.

"You're not going anywhere," Hermione said.

"Let him go," Draco countered, his head still down and eyes pressed closed.

"Not a chance," Hermione protested. "Not until he's answered my—"

"If you want answers," Draco pressed, "you'll let him go."

After a tense standoff, one made all the more infuriating by Lucius' aristocratic grin, Hermione reluctantly obliged. Harry stood aside as well, giving Lucius just enough space to not quite comfortably squeeze by and exit the room. The door had no sooner closed before Hermione crossed the floor towards Draco with fire in her stride. Before she could utter a word, however, he raised a hand to silence her, a hand that seemed to tremble under its own weight as he continued to stare down at his desk.

"Draco?" Harry asked with a sudden and oddly placed tone of concern. "Are you all right?"

Without an answer, he grabbed a feather pen and began scribing upon a blank piece of parchment.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. "What is that?"

Still remaining silent, Draco folded the parchment in three. Then, after a deep breath and a vicarious glance towards nothing in particular, he finally addressed Hermione and Harry.

"Come with me," he said as he began for the door.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"If I don't answer," Draco replied without pause, "will that stop you?"

It was a point well taken. After a befuddled exchange of glances, Hermione and Harry followed Draco as he led them down through the dark empty halls of the Ministry. Most of the offices were empty, most employees having called it a day hours ago. The few who remained had all gathered together near Winston's office, idly standing by and chatting about what had occurred. As such, the facility was eerily quiet, with the echoes their rebounding footsteps being the only force against the enveloping silence.

After passing through a series of halls and descending several stairways, they entered an area within the Department of Mysteries that was all too familiar. Although Hermione had not seen the room in over fifteen years, the large, cold, dimly lit chamber remained exactly as she had remembered. Benches ran all along its rectangular perimeter descending like steps towards a sunken pit. Within the pit sat a raised stone dais upon which stood a tall stone archway, its tattered black curtain gently swaying in the unseen breeze.

"You both know where we are," Draco said as they approached the stone dais in the center of the room. "You, in particular," he added with a glance towards Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"His parents' aren't the only graves he visits," Draco clarified.

Hermione had never thought of it in that way. To her, the room represented a terrible moment in their childhood. It was the site upon which Harry lost his godfather, a moment that scars him to this day. But she had never thought of it as a grave. Although, given there was no body to bury, there truly was no more appropriate place for Harry to grieve over his loss.

Harry approached the dais, staring blankly at the that curtain hung within. Draco soon joined him, holding out the piece of parchment he had scribed upon back in their office. In a pattern of twists and turns the parchment transformed into a small thin winged bird that fluttered about before darting into and straight through the dark curtain, causing a whirl of motion before the material returned to its gentle sway.

"What did you just do?" Harry asked.

Draco did not answer, instead turning to Harry and extending his hand. Looking at it quizzically for a moment, Harry cautiously grasped Draco's in return and shook it firmly. When he attempted to withdraw, however, Draco held on tight.

"Draw your wand, Hermione," he instructed.

"What are you doing?" Hermione protested.

"I'm doing nothing," Draco answered. "Harry, on the other hand, is about to make a vow to me."

"Absolutely not," Hermione protested further. "I will not allow—"

"What sort of vow?" Harry asked, albeit Hermione had little doubt he knew exactly the sort of vow he was being asked to make.

"An Unbreakable Vow," Draco answered anyway.

"Harry, no!" Hermione shouted.

"That's all well and good for me," Draco said. "In case neither of you have been paying attention, I'm not exactly thrilled to be here. We can all just go on home and call it a night if you like."

"I'll do it," Harry said.

"Harry!" Hermione continued on.

"Do you see any other options?" Harry asked of Hermione, seeming entirely too calm about the situation given what was at stake.

"You don't even know what you will be vowing to do," Hermione pointed out.

"He will be vowing to do nothing," Draco explained. "As will you."

"To do nothing?" Harry asked.

"To be more specific," Draco clarified, "you will vow to share nothing of what you are about to see, what you are about to hear, feel, taste, sense, or remember with anyone outside the circle of those who have already experienced the same."

Harry seemed to ponder this for a moment before turning to Hermione with a shrug. "I don't see the harm in it," he said simply.

Although still reluctant, Hermione could not disagree. It was essentially a vow of secrecy. And such a practice, especially when working within the Ministry, did not seem terribly out of place. Aside from that, keeping secrets was something in which Hermione was both well learned and well practiced.

After overseeing Harry's vow, she and Harry exchanged places and she made a vow of her own. Once finished, Draco glanced upon the archway, turned his back to it, paced away, then returned while massaging his fingers through his hair.

"All right, Draco," Hermione said with growing impatience. "We've played along, we've followed you down here, we've sworn ourselves to secrecy, we're completely alone. It's time for you to start talking."

"Talking?" Draco said with an uncomfortable laugh. "You think we came all the way down her to talk?"

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "Then what are we doing here?"

Taking several deep breaths, Draco looked on towards the stone archway upon the dais.

"Take hold of my arm," he said to Harry. "Whatever you do, do not let go until we've passed completely through to the other side."

"The other side?" Harry asked, for the first time showing signs of hesitation.

"Have you gone mad?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "You are not going through there! Do you have any idea what that is?"

"Obviously yes," Draco answered with a roll of his eyes. "But again, if you would like to simply forget the entirety of it all, I promise you I will not argue."

"No," Harry assured. "I'll do it. I'll go."

"Harry, you can't!" Hermione argued.

"It will be all right, Hermione," Harry said with an assuring smile.

"You don't know that," Hermione argued further. "Bleeding Christ, you have a family! A wife! Children!"

"I do," Harry agreed. "So does he," he added with a gesture to Draco. "A family I'm pretty sure he'd like to see again."

There was conviction in Harry's tone and a truth to his words, neither of which could be ignored. Even so, Hermione struggled. Emotions and faith versus logic and reasoning. Such processes rarely ran parallel. Even less often would they intersect.

Still, Winston's life had been extinguished. Now free of his mortal coil, he had used his final moments to set Hermione along a path. And her instincts, however sound, would have to be challenged if she were to continue on towards its end. A part of Hermione had already known this. Even so, Harry's conviction had become the catalyst Hermione needed to follow through.

"Do you promise that—" she began.

"I promise nothing," Draco quickly asserted.

Hermione's eyes danced between Harry, Draco, and the ominous stone structure that lay before them. "All right," she finally agreed. "So now what?"

"Stay close," Draco said with a sigh.

"Do I need to grab hold of you as well?" Hermione asked, noticing Harry's secure grip upon Draco's arm.

"No," Draco answered. "I don't need to take you through."

Without another word, Draco led Hermione and Harry up to the archway. With each step, it seemed as though the air grew increasingly colder. The infinite sounds of nothingness surrounding them blurred together into a seamless hum of a thousand voices whispering one on top of the other all at once as Hermione's heart thumped like a canon blast in her chest, her breath shortening, the hairs on her neck now standing on end.

With one final step, they crossed the threshold, passing beyond the curtain, and the world went dark.

Had they died.

Was it really over?

It had happened so fast, the moment so brief. Yet that fraction of the hourglass seemed suspended in time, stretching on into eternity until Hermione was suddenly struck with a familiar sensation so buried within her memories had almost forgotten it completely. A slight tug followed by a suffocating pressure all about her body, enveloping her every curve and feature … Like being pressed through water.

A second later, Hermione and Draco, with Harry still firmly on his arm, stepped into a large rectangular dimly lit room. Along the walls were benches descending towards them like stairs. Looking around, Hermione saw they were standing on a stone dais with a tall stone archway to their backs, its tattered black curtain still swaying back and forth from their entrance only moments before.

"We're still here," Harry said, squinting his eyes as he peered around the cavernous chamber.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, a part of her almost disappointed that nothing had occurred.

"Come on," Draco said dismissively as ascended the stairs towards the door in the far corner of the room.

Hermione and Harry followed close behind, neither saying a word as Draco's pace continued on in long, swift, and even steps. As they crossed through the areas they had come through on the way down to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione began to notice that things did not seem to appear quite the same as they had before.

While the lower levels of the Ministry were old, almost ancient in structure and design, with massive stone blocks and areas carved straight from the bedrock itself, the further up within the structure one ascended the more modern it became. The most recent updates and additions now seemed absent, however, with a continuation of classic architecture intermingled with any number of details that did not seem quite right.

Draco?" Hermione whispered, but he either did not hear or was purposefully ignoring her as they reached a massive set of iron doors lavishly decorated with strange symbols and intricate details that must have taken years to fashion.

With a flick of his wand, the doors flew open to expose an enormous room filled with stacks of wooden crates, rows of tables littered with wires and conduits, and displays of various instruments, contraptions, and other odd sights Hermione could barely process before another flick of Draco's wand drew back a row of long vibrant curtains that ran the length of the stone floor to the vaulted ceiling, basking the entire area in the crimson light of the setting sun.

Stunned beyond reason, Hermione's legs felt weak as she slowly approached the massive open windows, taking in the all encompassing sight. Below them she saw pitched tiled rooftops stretching off towards the boundary of a large city of stone and steel. Surrounding the city was a crescent shaped ridge from which the shoulders and head of a woman wearing an ivy crown had been carved into its face. Through the ridge, a river fell; a waterfall that diverged into a separate stream that ran through the center of the city while its initial course continued down through the ground unabated.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry beside her, his mouth agape as he, too, absorbed his surroundings with wide-eyed wonderment.

"Where are we?" he asked in astonishment.

"Welcome to Voldavia," Draco answered as he joined his former classmates in their gaze.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, certain she could not have heard correctly.

But what followed was not Draco's voice. No, it was an impossible voice, a voice Hermione could not be hearing, a voice no living person could be hearing, a voice no one could ever hear again.

"Harry?"

Hermione's blood turned to ice as she and Harry spun around to find themselves standing across the room from an individual grasping Draco's scribed parchment in his hand.

 _Impossible,_ Hermione thought. _Absolutely impossible._

Harry's voice quivered as he desperately struggled to utter a sound.

"Sirius?"


	9. Chapter 9 - City of Stone and Steel

_Wow ... This took so much longer than I wanted. Not because I didn't know what to write or where the story was going. It was more because I kept writing, deleting, writing, deleting, etc ... Trying to keep the chapter from sounding like nothing more than a giant exposition dump while also remaining true to the characters and how they would react to the situation. So apologies in advance if I failed in either or both endeavors._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _edit: Went back and corrected a ton of grammatical/spelling errors. Apologies to anyone who suffered through the first posting. Probably should stop doing edits prior to posting at 2am. I really miss my editor :/_

 _\- Chapter Nine -_

 _The City of Stone and Steel_

Across the odd and unfamiliar room, a long shadow stretched on and climbed the wall beyond a man. Streaks of grey lined his shoulder length hair, his eyes still clutching youth amidst his aged face. Like Harry, his mouth was agape, his expression one of disbelief. Taking slow and deliberate steps, he approached, his head cocking from side to side as he blinked several times to clear his sight or his head, either of which seemed plausibly appropriate at the moment.

"Is it really you?" he asked as Harry remained frozen in place.

"Really me?" Harry asked. "Is it really you?"

Without another word the two embraced with such vigor, Harry's glasses fell from his face. If not for Hermione's quick reflexes in grasping them from the air, they surely would have shattered on the tiles below.

"How in all the world did you get here?" Sirius asked on, pulling back before embracing Harry once again.

"I'm not even certain where here is," Harry answered.

"Draco brought us," Hermione explained.

Sirius released Harry and turned to Hermione, smiling warmly.

"Hermione Granger," he said. "You've grown into a remarkable woman as I've heard. Your parents must be so very proud."

"Hermione Weasley," Draco pointed out.

"Ah yes, of course," Sirius acknowledged.

"And while this little reunion is just warming my heart to no end," Draco continued, "I believe it best if we be off sooner than later."

"Wait," Harry interjected, taking a step towards Draco. "You knew? You knew all along what lay beyond that archway?"

"No," Draco scoffed with a dismissive smirk. "This is all just a magnificent coincidence. Pass through enough random archways and you're bound to eventually come across someone's dead godfath—"

Before Draco could finish his sarcastic point, Harry's punch landed squarely on the pallid Slytherin's cheek and jaw, sending him careening to the floor, much to the shock of both Hermione and Sirius. As Harry went at Draco for a second time, Sirius grasped him by the arms and attempted to hold him back.

"You knew!" Harry shouted, wildly attempting to pull free and continue his assault. "How could you? How could you just sit there all this time and say nothing?"

"Calm yourself, Harry," Sirius said, stifling his own voice while, at the same time, attempting to sound persuasive and strong. "You need to calm yourself … Draco, the Elkhorn!"

Before Harry could loose himself of Sirius' grasp, they both Disapparated with a pop, leaving Hermione in shock as Draco slowly pulled himself to his feet.

"Draco …" Hermione offered apologetically, although she had no notion why she felt inclined to use such a tone.

"Whatever," Draco dismissed as he massaged his jaw. "Probably deserved that for something. But he only gets one."

Examining Draco's face, Hermione saw the area about his face where he had been struck had already begun to swell and darken.

"Are you all right?" she asked, reaching out to offer a more thorough inspection.

Draco pulled his head back to avoid her touch and grabbed her firmly by the wrist. Without a word, they Disapparated from the room, arriving a moment later outside a small building along a cobbled road. Above the entrance hung a weathered wooden sign inscribed with the words _Elkhorn Tavern_.

Hermione pulled free of Draco, disorientated and slightly agitated as well. She was suddenly reminded of the guilt Killian had once felt over the very idea that he had Apparated her without having first asked for her permission to do so. Granted, it had been her first time experiencing Apparition, and that also played into his emotions. Even so, it was clear he and Draco had very different views in regards to manners and form on the subject.

"Where are we now?" Hermione asked as she dusted her sleeve.

Near the entrance to the tavern, she noticed Sirius and Harry speaking calmly. Harry wore an expression of contentedness Hermione had not seen on his face in a what felt like a lifetime. While he often smiled, and his family brought him vast amounts of joy, this was something different. Almost reflecting more of the boy he had once been in place of the man he had become.

"Come on," Draco said, ignoring Hermione's question as he began towards Harry and Sirius.

"Well, that was a bit of an adventure," Sirius said jovially as Draco as Hermione approached.

"Look Draco," Harry began regretfully. "I'm sorry about the—"

"Shut it, Potter," Draco chastised curtly. "You hit like a girl and apologies are for the weak."

Hermione found herself stifling a laugh, partly upon the reminder of Killian's creed of apologies being a mark of weakness while partly due to Harry's confused expression. Appropriateness aside, there were a thousand questions swirling about in her mind, several of which required immediate answers. None more pressing than how it was at all possible she was looking upon Sirius Black standing proudly aside his Auror godson.

"Is the Conclave unaware of their presence?" Sirius asked of Draco.

"Didn't really have time to file the proper forms," Draco answered. "Will the Watchers be able to track us?"

"Unlikely to here," Sirius answered with a wink to Harry. "We should get inside."

He opened the door and Harry cautiously entered. Hermione followed, but not before she caught a glimpse of the setting sun's vibrant rays. While she had no clear idea as to where they were, she knew very well they had left the city. Not for any knowledge of the area, but more for the fact that off towards the horizon she could clearly see the same ridge she had gazed upon as she stared out the window into this strange new world. Even from the distance, the tremendous effort and artistry that must have gone into the carving of the female form was evident. What purpose led to such a massive undertaking, she could only imagine.

Once inside, Sirius led Harry and Hermione to an empty table, of which many were to be had. The quiet tavern reminded Hermione very much of Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Rustic with wood floors and plaster walls, sturdy but well-worn tables and chairs spaced around an open area, and a long counter along the far wall where several patrons commiserated.

As they each grabbed a chair, Hermione noticed their small party was suddenly short one person.

"Where's Draco?" she asked, glancing about the tavern of unfamiliar faces.

"He'll be back," Sirius assured. "Not to worry. Would either of you like something to drink? Eat?"

"Drink? Eat?" Hermione asked, the mere thought of something so trivial being the furthest thing from her mind. "Sirius, you're alive! I mean, you are alive, right?" she went on, suddenly feeling it important the fact be clarified. "We're not dead, are we?"

"You are not," Sirius answered with a smile. "I am quite alive. And well, thank you."

"I don't even know what to feel," Harry said. "I mean, I was there. I saw it. When Bellatrix jinxed you and you … you …"

"Passed through the Veil?" Sirius suggested.

"Yes," Harry agreed. His eyes then began to tear, though Hermione could see him struggling to suppress it. "Do you know how many times I've stood in front of that archway? How many hours I've spent staring at that tattered curtain? Reliving that night … Missing you."

"I've whiled away a vast many hours doing just the same," Sirius said, restraining his emotions as well as he placed his hand on Harry's face. "I wonder just how often we had been so very close, each believing the other to be a world away."

"Why didn't you come home?" Harry asked. "All these years and you never returned, never send word, never …"

Although he lost his voice, Harry's direction was more than clear. And Hermione, as much as anyone, wished to understand how Sirius could allow Harry to suffer, or anyone else for that matter, in believing he was dead when the reality was so very different.

"Sadly, it is not that simple," Sirius explained with regret. "One cannot simply pass though the Veil. Only those brought through by another who already possesses the ability to do so themselves can traverse in both directions. And as such, I'm afraid …" He paused, simultaneously nodding and shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can never return. As for sending word," he went on. "Believe me when I say I wanted to. More than you could possibly know. And there were ways. In the years that have gone by, I have learned a great many things. Levels of magic you would not believe possible. But …" Pausing once more and tensing up to restrain another rush of emotions, Sirius again put his hand on Harry's face, slid it down to his shoulder, and squeezed firmly. "You were such a headstrong boy, Harry. Acting with you heart. Had you known where I truly was, you would have burst through the Veil without a second thought in the world, believing you would somehow figure it out in the end. I could not allow that."

"I can understand that," Harry said, although Hermione was uncertain of the honesty in these words. "But that was a long time ago. I'm no longer a—"

"A child," Sirius concluded before Harry could punctuate the point himself. "No … You are not. You have grown into a strong confident man. A man with a life, a family. A man who needs not be chasing ghosts from his past." He took a breath, his eyes watering, his lips pressed in a bittersweet smile. "Which is why I would never allow Draco to tell you," he went on solemnly. "Regardless of how often he asked to do so."

It was clear Sirius' words struck an emotional chord in Harry. None more so than the revelation that it was Sirius, not Draco, whom had insisted that Harry be kept in the dark. No doubt this arose even more shame to go along with the guilt Harry already felt in burying his fist in Draco's jaw earlier.

"Did you know?" Harry asked after a brief silence.

"Did I know?" Sirius echoed in an attempt for more clarity.

"That the Veil would bring you here," Harry said.

Sirius offered an uncomfortable laugh one might utter when having only just escaped something gruesome. "I … did not," he admitted. "Like most, I believed it was some form of pathway between life and the hereafter. Wretched Unspeakables. Cleverly passing along misinformation for generations through any number of means without so much as uttering a single word of their studies. No doubt it's the very reason they housed the Veil in an area they called the _Death Chamber_. What better way to keep curiosity seekers at a distance?"

"Did she know?" Hermione asked, believing it to be a logical follow-up to Harry's initial question. "When Bellatrix jinxed you, did she know what would happen?"

This time, Sirius did not laugh. He looked down, sighed, and looked up again wearing a sullen smile that carried a great weight with it.

"I cannot answer that with any amount of certainty," he answered. "I chose to believe she did. Despite the anger and animosity between us, I would like …" He paused to collect his thought before continuing. "I would like to think she knew I would simply be trapped; no longer a threat to them, yet unharmed. For all our differences, we were family, after all."

"But how could she know" Harry asked. "You didn't even know until you fell through."

"True," Sirius admitted. "However, Bella was very close to one who knew the true purpose of the Veil."

"Voldemort knew?" Hermione asked in astonishment, albeit such a revelation should not have been as unexpected as it was.

"Knew of it," Sirius answered, "and used it. And not only Voldemort," he went on with a glance over Hermione's shoulder towards the door.

"Well, you're just a grand little bottle of exposition, aren't you?" came Draco's voice from the direction of Sirius' stare.

He approached the table, after which a large man stepped through the doorway alongside a petite sorceress with golden hair and a bow slung over her shoulder.

"All right, Sirius, what's the big fuss?" Altimus asked with a glance around the room, his eyes widening as he noticed Harry and Hermione. "Didn't say we had company, Draco," he mumbled.

"He is not going to be happy," Wraith said, her crystal blue eyes on Hermione.

"When is he ever happy?" Draco scoffed as Altimus and Wraith joined them at the table.

"Where, exactly, is he?" Hermione asked bluntly before the subject could be sidestepped in any manner.

"Outside," Altimus answered, thumbing back towards the door. "Draco asked him to wait a bit. Wonder why?" he added, feigning thought as crossed his arms and rubbed his chin.

"Probably didn't want to be struck again," Sirius offered, laughing with a boisterousness that brought an uncomfortable expression to Harry's face.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Draco asked with spite.

Sirius nodded as he nudged Harry's ribs, a gesture that seemed only to increase his embarrassment.

"If you've all had your fun," Draco continued firmly, "we don't have much time."

"Until what?" Harry asked.

"Until we go back through the Veil," Draco answered.

"Go back?" Harry asked on as if the very idea were ridiculous. "We just got here."

"And that should be enough to force the Conclave's hands," Draco explained, albeit cryptically. "But as I do not intend on finding myself banished or imprisoned, I move that we tread lightly."

"Agreed," Sirius said, leaning back and settling in with the new company.

"Might I ask …" Altimus piped in, his hand raised in question. "How aware are they? You know … In total."

"This is the extent," Draco answered with a wide gesture around the area.

"I see," Altimus said, again rubbing his chin, although this time it appeared authentic. "So, um … Lots to discuss then, yeah?"

"You seem to enjoy the sound of your voice," Draco offered to Sirius. "Care to take the lead?"

"I'd be delighted," Sirius accepted with bow of his head.

Before he could begin, however, Hermione stood. As much as she desired answers, she found herself suddenly unable to focus. She was in a tavern on the outskirts of a strange town in a world she only just discovered existed in any reality. She was sitting across from two members of the Triad, an improbability most any employee within the Ministry would envy for any number of varying reasons. Yet, her eyes were on the door, her mind a thousand miles away.

"Going somewhere?" Draco asked.

"Outside," Hermione answered simply.

"What?" Harry asked. "Now?"

"Take good notes," Hermione answered with a smile before leaving the table and exiting the tavern to the astonished eyes all upon her.

The moment the outdoor air filled her lungs, she saw him. He was alone, his back to Hermione as he stared off towards the same carved figure in the distant mountainside that had enthralled Hermione upon her first glance. He did not react to her, but Hermione was certain he knew of her presence. Somehow, she could feel it. Even so, it did little to make the moment any easier.

"So this is where you have been disappearing to," Hermione offered, her tone not as firm as she would have wished.

Lowering his head, but remaining in place, Killian returned nothing more than a sigh.

Although not the response Hermione had hoped to receive, she felt comfortable enough to approach. Once alongside Killian, she joined him in his gaze.

"Who is she?" Hermione asked, feeling it an appropriate way to break the silence.

"Aleia," Killian answered simply. "The goddess."

"The goddess?" Hermione asked with surprise. "I suppose I have a lot to learn. Fairy tales and children's stories."

"Draco brought you through the Veil?" Killian asked directly, his eyes remaining fixed upon the horizon as he ignored Hermione's attempt at any form of idle banter.

"Don't be cross with him," Hermione defended. "I understand he made some form of promise to you. But he was put in a position where he—"

"I trust his judgement," Killian assured before Hermione could finish her thought. "However, that was not my question."

"Oh," Hermione said, now rethinking her response. "Well then," she continued. "To answer your question, Draco brought Harry through the Veil."

"Harry?" Killian asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Sirius explained why. Rather genius in regards to security really. So very simple, yet effective."

"And you?" Killian pressed.

Hermione did not answer immediately. An odd and unplaced fear had suddenly crept upon her, casting doubt and disbelief. It was as close to the definition of surreal as Hermione had ever felt in a lifetime of events that were certainly more than surreal to anyone on the outside looking in. She did not have to be honest in her reply. How would he even know? In a bizarre twist, however, more chaos, emotional and otherwise, would arguably result in honesty than in deceit.

So many lies … So many years …

"No," she finally answered. "But he didn't have to, did he?" she went on slowly and cautiously, pausing and waiting for any form of reaction from Killian. He offered none. Not even a flinch. So very Slytherin. "Because …" She paused, feeling her heart beat begin to accelerate at the mere thought of her next utterance. "Because you already had."

With those words, Hermione obtained the verification she sought. Killian's stoic pose had faltered, albeit only just. It was a subtlety one would only notice if they had been looking. And even then, only if they knew where to look. But Hermione saw it. And that slightest hint of a reaction confirmed a possibility that had been rolling through in her mind since she first stepped through the Veil with Harry and Draco in that darkened chamber within the Department of Mysteries.

"Killian?" Hermione continued, desperate for any for of auditory response.

"What is it you wish me to say?" Killian asked.

"I don't know," Hermione answered, feeling suddenly emotional over the realization of what had occurred all those years ago. "You brought me here, Killian," she went on. "Not just to your family's estate … To your home."

With a movement less subtle this time, Killian looked to the ground, closing his eyes with a deep and steady breath before returning his gaze towards the distance.

"You must admit there was a certain poetry to it," he said.

"If I had known, perhaps," Hermione said in return. "Such poetry is lost on those ignorant of the details."

With a turn of his head, Killian's gazed upon Hermione for the first time. "It was never my intention to keep it from you," he said with a pain harbored beyond his eyes that Hermione could feel coursing through her very being.

A desperate desire arose within Hermione. She wished to reach for him, but found herself frozen in place, unable to will her body to obey her mind. Before this war of senses could fury on any further, however, the door to the tavern opened, the furtive dwellers from within spilling out into the street.

"Enjoying your little conversation?" Draco asked with a bite in his tone.

"We were just—" Hermione began to answer, but was cut short as Draco hastily approached.

"Yes, yes, enjoying the view," he concluded, rich with sarcasm. "City of stone and steel, magnificent architecture, diverse population, and bountiful with history. And you've only seen the half of it. Unfortunately, Farnsworth just received word that there are Watchers in the area, so I'm afraid the tour will have to be postponed."

"Farnsworth?" Hermione asked.

"Just another detail you missed," Draco chided. "And one that will have to wait. It's time to go."

"Already? I've only just—" Hermione began, but found her voice suddenly silenced when she saw Killian had Disapparated, leaving only a wisp of smoke that quickly dissipated in the breeze.

"Only just?" Draco led, cupping his hand to his ear in mocking fashion.

"Draco is right," Sirius spoke up, approaching Hermione and gently leading her by the arm. "While it is likely the presence of Watchers is entirely coincidence, we cannot risk the chance they suspect a breech. There are eyes and ears everywhere."

"But when—" Hermione started before Sirius interjected.

"You will return," he assured. "I promise you, this is only the beginning."

"The beginning of what?" Hermione asked on, now becoming increasingly agitated as she and Harry were being hurried along.

"Perhaps you should have remained inside," Draco chided. "Probably be better informed."

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry spoke up before Hermione could respond to Draco's remark. "I'll fill you in. We have a lot to discuss."

Harry's tone and expression confirmed Sirius' words. Whatever they had spoken of within the confines of the country tavern, it was clear Harry agreed with the assertion that there was a danger in prolonging their stay. At least for now.

With great reluctance, Hermione submitted. As she, Harry, Draco, and Sirius prepared to leave, however, Altimus suddenly approached her.

"Just a second, luv," he said. "Got something for you."

He reached into his pocket, removed a small object, and then extended his hand to Hermione. She saw, laying face up in his palm, a silver Sickle.

"Is this some sort of bribe?" Hermione asked with doubt.

"Be a sad one if it was," Altimus clarified. "This here's a beacon of sorts."

"Altimus!" Wraith chastised crossly as she glimpsed the coin in Altimus' hand, although the brute member of the Triad did not appear particularly affected.

"She's part of it now, isn't she?" he defended before readdressing Hermione and leaning in. "It's how the Triad keeps track of each other," he whispered. "Hold the coin in your fingers, say a name, and we'll know exactly where to find you."

"What name?" Hermione asked as she accepted the coin.

"Any of us," Altimus clarified. "Wraith, me …"

"Right," Wraith scoffed with a roll of her eyes. " _Any_ of us."

"Pay her no attention," Altimus dismissed with a smile. "Keep it safe. Common enough that it doesn't stick out, but easy enough to lose, as well. And that'd be a bit of trouble, wouldn't it? Wrong hands and all."

Hermione looked to Sirius and Draco for a signal of reassurance, as they seemed to be the only ones capable of offering any under the circumstances. Unfortunately, she found little. Sirius seemed almost indifferent, offering little more than a cock of his head and subtle shrug. Draco, on the other hand, simply appeared frustrated by the notion of it.

Even so, Hermione accepted the token. After all, with the elusiveness of the Triad, such a marker could prove invaluable.

"Can we please go now?" Draco asked with impatience.

After securing the Sickle, Hermione took one last look around the area. Particularly at Aleia. Her beautiful features carved into the stone were locked in an eternal gaze across a world that was so very strange and new to Hermione. Details Hermione was determined to remedy.

A moment later, Hermione, Harry, Draco, and Sirius Disapparated.


	10. Chapter 10 - This Side of Sanity

_Okay, so I was able to get another one up and it only took a few days. Albeit it is, by far, the shortest chapter I have posted in a long time. But I believe to was necessary and the brevity of it seems appropriate. Although I suppose it is really up to the readers whether or not something works, right?_

 _Digressing again ... Anyways, enjoy the second post this week! Yay for progress!_

 _\- Chapter Ten -_

 _This Side of Sanity_

Having, once again, been Apparated via Side-Along, Hermione was surprised to find herself, Harry, Sirius, and Draco having not only failed to pass through the Veil, but having not even reached the chamber the Veil was held within. She recognized the area as being a corridor they had crossed when they had first arrived and made their way to the large room that overlooked the city. It was nondescript for the most part; tall walls of large stones, sparse lighting, and a staircase descending on the far side. If nothing else, it seemed an odd destination for anyone seeking to remain discrete.

"What are we doing here?" Hermione whispered, although even at the low decibel, the echo was evident.

"Well we can't just go right on through now, can we?" Draco asked rhetorically. "If Farnsworth is right about Watchers snooping about the outskirts of the city after we arrived, it's a good bet the Veil is under eyes as well."

"And you have a plan for this, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco snipped. "And it starts with everyone shutting it."

He then looked to Sirius, who nodded before drawing his wand and holding it out at an arm's length. With a deep and steady breath, he closed his eyes. From the tip of his wand, a light began to emanate, increasing in size until an orb released and flitted away a short distance. Once settled, the orb burst into an image of a handsome, albeit younger Sirius. It was not quite flesh, not quite ethereal, but perfect in every detail.

The ghostly reflection turned and continued down the corridor, descending the stairs until gone from view.

Hermione was astonished, certain her jaw was far more agape than she intended. One glance at Harry confirmed he was no less stunned by the experience.

"Sirius?" Harry whispered.

No response came. Sirius remained firm in place, his eyes closed, his body still, as if asleep on his feet.

"Sirius?" Harry tried again, this time placing a hand on his godfather's shoulder.

"He can't hear you," Draco explained with a roll of his eyes. "Now pipe down."

After a few moments, the young replicant of eerie light returned, disintegrating into glittering particles that swirled about and entered Sirius's wand much in the same way the orb had been released. Sirius then opened his eyes and glanced back towards the stairway.

"Only two," he said. "But I managed to draw them away. Not the brightest of the Watchers. But we only have a moment."

"What did you just do?" Harry asked of Sirius, pulling away from Draco as he reached for his arm.

"We don't have time for this," Draco pointed out. "Only a moment, remember?"

"That night in the Forbidden Forest," Harry pressed on undeterred. "My mother, my father, Remus … And you."

Sirius smiled in a manner that exhibited an awkward mixture of pride and shame. "I told you there were ways I could reach you," he explained. "Even beyond the Veil."

"So are they—" Harry asked with sudden hope.

"No Harry," Sirius answered. "They are not."

Neither Harry nor Sirius detailed their thoughts. But such an explanation was unnecessary. Sirius was back from the dead, and now appeared as what could only be described as a specter before Harry's eyes, just as he had done the night Harry gave himself up to Voldemort. If Sirius survived, perhaps the others who gave Harry comfort on that night might have followed a similar path. However naïve such a though might have been, Hermione could not fault Harry for grasping at the faint spark of a hope.

"That night in the forest," Sirius explained, "I had gone there to stop you. And then …"

"Seriously?" Draco piped in. "Are we really doing this now? We don't—"

His words were stopped short by a stiff backhand from Hermione.

"And then I saw James and Lily," Sirius continued. "And Remus … And at that moment I realized it was not my place to stop you, it was not my place to tell you what you needed to do. Probably never really was. I needed to be for you what you needed me to be. And I had never been more proud of you."

"How did you even know I was there?" Harry asked on.

"Apparently you had crossed paths with a classmate on your way out of the castle," Sirius explained. "After failing to dissuade you himself, he thought it kind enough to send word."

Hermione looked to Draco with surprise. While Harry and Draco's relationship had, in less than social settings, improved over the years, she could not fathom Draco offering any form of help to Harry during their time at Hogwarts. Nor the other way around. Bitter did not even begin to describe their relationship.

"It wasn't me," Draco said, cringing at Hermione's shocked gaze as if the very idea was preposterous.

"It was Killian," Harry clarified before Hermione had even processed Draco's denial.

"Killian?" she asked, almost more thrown off by this admission than the idea that it could have been Draco.

"Well, not personally," Sirius clarified. "Killian was quite occupied himself at the time, as I remember. He sent his wenkit in his stead."

"His what?" Hermione asked on, her confusion and disbelief growing exponentially with every word she absorbed.

"Enough already," Draco interjected curtly. "You keep talking and little miss jabbers here will go on all night."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione snipped.

"But—" Harry continued on, completely disregarding the interaction taking place alongside him. But Sirius raised a gentle hand to silence him before he could utter another sound.

"Harry …" he said with a reluctant smile. "It is time to go. I promise," he went on with sincerity, "we will see each other again. Very soon."

Hermione could see that Harry was no more ready to return through the Veil than she. However, pressing their luck any further seemed almost reckless at this point in time. Although no strangers to such actions, cooler heads would need to prevail if she and Harry wished to continue down the path that had been suddenly lain out before them.

With a final embrace, Harry Disapperated, followed quickly by Draco and Hermione as Sirius offered a simply, yet solemn wave of departure. A moment later, they were back in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries, standing in front of the ancient stone archway, its tattered curtain swaying in the unseen breeze.

Hermione approached Harry, who stared blankly into the darkness beyond the Veil.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"I can go back and forth whenever I please now, right?" Harry asked of Draco.

"Technically, yes," Draco answered as he approached Harry as well. "Although I wager if you walk through now, you won't be coming back any time soon." He then paused and, to Hermione's further shock, placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Be patient, Potter. There's a lot still ahead."

It was unclear whom between Hermione and Harry was more dumfounded by the display as Draco stepped off the dais and began up towards the door.

"Now, if you don't mind," he carried on, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls, "I have a wife at home of whom I'd very much like to see. Don't you two have spouses as well?"

Draco's voice faded into silence as he exited the chamber, the door closing silently in his wake.

Hermione looked to Harry, who had removed his glasses and was now rubbing his eye.

"What to do now?" she asked almost rhetorically.

"Now," Harry answered just the same as he replaced his glasses and straightened his collar, "I go home, take off my coat, kiss my wife, and talk to her about every little thing that happened today. All except the one thing I wish to share with her more than anything else."

Hermione put her arms around Harry and gave him a firm hug.

"I'm very happy for you Harry," she said before releasing him and stepping back.

"Yeah," Harry said, laughing quietly to himself. "I still don't know what to think, what to feel. Like I'm just this side of sanity, you know?"

"I do," Hermione agreed with one last glance towards the Veil. She then gave Harry a gentle jab in the arm. "Go on home," she said, releasing Harry of any further responsibilities for the evening. "Ginny's waiting."

With that, she and Harry stepped off the dais and left the chamber.

. . .

Later that night, Hermione was lying in bed and staring off towards the far wall of the bedroom. She could see her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, faintly visible in the moonlight that seeped in through the window. No doubt, Harry was still awake. He and Ginny were likely sitting together across from the crackling embers of their hearth, whispering to each so as not to wake the children. It was a life so very different from Hermione's own.

A creak from the bedframe preceded a shift in the lump in the blankets reflected beyond Hermione. Ron had rolled over in his sleep, unconsciously tugging at the covers and forcing Hermione to readjust so as to remain within their warmth. It was the only comfort she currently held to sooth her anxious mind and heavy heart.

She and Ron had spoken a bit when she arrived at home earlier. It was a simple back and forth, inquiries about work, a mention that he had heard of what had happened with Winston, and an offering of condolences. It was everything one would expect at the end of any given day when settling in for the evening. But it was not whispering by the fire.

Ron tried. Hermione knew he did. There was just … Something. Something different. Something missing. And amidst his efforts, Hermione knew Ron felt the same. In reality, neither of them really knew how to approach it. Nor were they certain they wished to do so.

As Hermione stared at her image reflected off the dusty glass, her vision danced between blurs and clarity, the features of the woman staring back at her melting away year by year until she saw the young girl she had once been so long ago. Strands of hair had fallen from the settings she had painstakingly pinned into place for the ball several hours before. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy, fighting to subdue a smile that would not be deterred as his voice echoed through her consciousness.

 _You must forgive me, Professor … But, I believe my tastes to be exceptional …_

As quickly as the memory manifested, the imagery faded into oblivion, leaving Hermione again face to face with her own tired eyes and apathetic expression. She looked to the silver Sickle in her hand, which she had been gently caressing between her thumb and forefinger throughout her insomnia. It glistened in the dim light, its face polished to a gleam. Closing her eyes as she drew it nearer, she imagined the sound of his name on her lips.

She could hear it resonating in her ears, feel it on her skin, taste it in the cool night air …

After taking a long deep breath to stay the pounding pressure in her chest, she released it all with a sigh, placing the Sickle on her nightstand aside the bed as a stray tear fell from her eye and dampened her pillow.


	11. Chapter 11 - From Whence it Came

_Sorry, this one took a bit. I actually had to do a bit of serious thinking as to how this chapter was going to play out. And after reading through it, I almost feel like it should have been called "Liam's Lecture." But alas, I kept the original title ... Mostly because Liam's Lecture sounds like a college course, not a chapter title. Bit of an exposition-type chapter ... And it ends with a reluctant meeting. So I don't know ... Maybe good?_

 _Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Eleven -_

 _From Whence it Came_

"Hermione …"

"Hermione … Wake up …"

"Hermione …"

Ron's voice finally burst through her dreams and pulled Hermione into a reluctant state of consciousness. Still weary and rubbing her sleep ridden eyes, she sat up to see Ron at the bedside, squatting down as he gently nudged her from her slumber.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Early," Ron answered quietly, a detail that put Hermione on the alert. "Not even six."

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno," Ron answered. "But the Minister's here."

"Kingsley's here?" Hermione gasped, leaping from her bed and grabbing her robe from the chair along the far wall.

"Got someone with him, too," Ron said. "Proper git in a bowler."

Ron's voice continued, but was drowned out by the rushing of blood in Hermione's ears as she raced from the room, tying her robe as she went along. Peering down from the top of the stairs, she saw Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting on the sofa, quietly engaged in conversation with another man who held a bowler cap in one hand and a walking stick in the other; a man she recognized immediately.

Upon seeing Hermione descend the stairs, both stood and greeted her with a polite bow.

"Minister," Hermione said with a welcoming smile.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley returned before gesturing to his companion. "Allow me to introduce—"

"Liam," Hermione interjected. "Buckley, if memory serves."

"It does indeed," Liam said with a smile.

It had been years, but the years had been quite kind. Perhaps a bit of aging around the eyes, a crease in his jawline, but little else. His hair remained full and free of grey, his posture and gaze young and strong.

"I see," Kingsley said with genuine surprise. "I was unaware you had already been acquainted."

"Many years ago," Liam explained causally. "She was merely a student at the time. I was uncertain she would even remember."

"Oh, you left quite an impression," Hermione assured. "Both times."

"Happy to hear," Liam said with a nod.

"Well then," Kingsley said in an attempt to move on. "We do apologize for the early morning intrusion. However, there are circumstances that require immediate attention."

"Circumstances?" Hermione asked with an eye on Liam.

"Yes, I'm afraid," Kingsley answered. "So, if you would please come with us, we can—"

"I'm to have an escort to the Ministry?" Hermione pressed further, folding her arms in frustrated defiance.

"We only wish to assure you will arrive," Liam explained.

"May I at least wash and change into proper clothing?" Hermione asked with a bit of bite in her tone.

"Of course," Kingsley answered with a comforting smile.

"But first," Liam interjected, lifting his walking stick and giving it a quick twist.

A ripple burst from its silver handle and dispersed throughout the area.

"Did you just seal my home?" Hermione asked with exasperation.

"Only a precaution," Liam clarified.

The sigh and repressed scowl in Kingsley expression was evident. Even so, he said nothing to contradict Liam's actions. Ron, however, had clearly seen enough to become unsettled by the display.

"Hang on, now," he spoke up. "Is there something going on here I need to know about?"

"There is always something one needs to know," Liam answered simply. "The question is whether one truly should."

This time it was Liam casting an eye towards Hermione. The insinuation could not have been more evident.

"Does that mean you're not going tell me?" Ron pressed.

"It does," Liam answered with as much simplicity as his previous response.

"Not to worry," Kingsley assured, his warm and assuring smile returning. "It is merely procedure. I promise you, all is well."

"Yeah?" Ron asked.

"With certainty," Kingsley assured.

Although not appearing any more comfortable than he had previously, Ron stood down. Hermione did, as well. There did not seem to be any other viable options at the moment. Aside from that, it was an inevitability that Hermione had been expecting from the moment she lay her head on her pillow the previous night.

Making her way back up the stairs, Hermione washed, dressed, and returned to her escorts. After Liam released the seal he had placed upon the house and Kingsley grabbed hold of Hermione, the three Disapparated from the room, leaving Ron to fester in a frustrated fog of unknowing.

. . .

Upon arriving at the Ministry, Hermione was greeted by an overwhelming amount of inconspicuous security. Inconspicuous in the fact that they dressed in plain suits and cloaks like any number of others who work within the Ministry's various departments, but noticeable to anyone who recognized the uniformity of their deep purple gloves. This detail alone distinguished them from any allies whom Hermione often found in her company.

These new additions to the escort continued along with Kingsley, Liam, and Hermione until they reached the office of the Minister of Magic. There they lined up on either side of the door and waited at attention.

"Is all of this truly necessary?" Hermione asked.

"Not before last night," Liam answered as he opened the door, allowing for Hermione and Kingsley to enter before following and closing the door behind him.

In the office, Hermione immediately saw Harry sitting in one of the dark leather and mahogany chairs displayed before the Kingsley's desk. Draco was there as well, although he was engaged in what had become an almost common practice of agitated pacing. A third person was also present. Like Liam, Hermione recognized this man as well. Unlike Liam, the years appeared to have taken a far greater toll.

"Hermione," Kingsley began. "This is—"

"Phineas Dollus," Hermione said, again beating Kingsley to the point.

"You know him?" Harry asked with surprise as he arose to greet Hermione and Kingsley.

"They've met," Draco said. "Liam too," he added with an unpleasant nod to Hermione's escort.

"Liam?" Harry inquired further.

"Liam Buckley," Liam offered as an introduction, extending his hand to Harry, who shook it firmly, albeit with some hesitation.

"And how is it that you two know each other?" Harry asked of Hermione.

"Best we stick to what's important I think," Liam offered.

"And where is Aeris?" Hermione asked. "Off rounding up another party of whom I'm unaware?"

"Alas no," Liam answered. "She chose to retire so as to spend time with our children. A true blessing for those in our line of work."

Hermione recalled Dumbledore's mention of congratulations when Liam, Aeris, and Dollus attempted to apprehend her and Luna all those years ago in the dark halls Hogwarts. So, the explanation certainly seemed reasonable. However, Hermione's trust had been pressed severely thin of late, and very little could be taken at face value.

As Liam and Kingsley retreated to Kingsley's desk, Dollus took the opportunity to approach Hermione for a more proper greeting. His gait was slow and hobbled by his short staff and hunched posture, his hair and beard now presenting far more grey than before. While he did not appear young during their first two encounters, it seemed evident that life had dealt the old sorcerer a significant blow.

"You look well, Miss Granger," he said with a bow of his head.

"Mrs. Weasley," Draco corrected.

"Is it?" Dollus asked. "I do apologize. I was misinformed."

"No, you're correct," Hermione said, staring daggers at Draco for his constant need to raise the point. "I use my maiden name professionally."

"Ah," Dollus returned with a wave of his finger. "As you should. It is name you have earned."

"Thank you," Hermione said uncomfortably, although she had no idea why she felt so. "What happened?" she went on quickly with a gesture to Dollus' staff.

"Time and miles, child," Dollus answered with a smile. "Time and miles."

"Charming," Draco snipped before addressing Kingsley and Liam. "Can we get on with it then? All present and accounted for, right?"

"You certainly seem eager," Kingsley commented with a raised eyebrow.

"Do not confuse eagerness with boredom," Draco returned curtly. "You've dragged us from our beds and paraded us here. I'd rather not waste any time with idle banter or poor philosophies on age and injury."

"Indeed," Kingsley concurred. He then sat at his desk with Liam standing aside him, drumming his fingers over the tip orbed handle of his walking stick. "It appears you three have caused quite a stir."

"That was the point of it," Draco said dismissively.

"A point that was taken quite seriously," Kingsley assured.

Before Kingsley could continue, however, Liam raised his hand to interject.

"If I may, Minister," he offered.

"Please do," Kingsley said with an open-handed gesture offering Liam the floor.

Liam then crossed around to the front of Kingsley's desk and began pacing before Harry, Hermione, and Draco.

"You have passed through the Veil," he began, addressing Hermione and Harry directly. "Or been escorted through, as it were," he added with an eye on Draco. "You are now privy to information of which few are aware, and fewer still can fully appreciate, even comprehend. As such, I must ask … With whom did you share your time on the outskirts of Mitna."

"Mitna?" Harry asked.

"The town beyond the Veil," Draco clarified, although Hermione has already assumed as much. In truth, she believed Harry had done the same. It was merely an attempt to be difficult for sake of being so.

"One of many," Liam corrected. "But yes … This trip of yours beyond the Veil, "he continued. "It is believed by some that this was less a simple trespass and more a furtive meeting."

"Who is the man behind the mask?" Hermione asked, ignoring Liam's inquiries in an attempt to take control of the conversation. Liam seemed stunned by the approach at first, only to be completely dismissive of it a moment later. "What is the Spiorad Druma," Hermione pressed on. "And why does he need it?"

Liam leaned again Kingsley's desk, gently tapping his bowler cap against his leg.

"You seem to misunderstand your circumstance," he explained. "This is not an exchange of ideas or inquiries. You have no authority, no power, no voice. I do hope this fact is clear."

"Are you going to let him speak to us like that?" Harry demanded of Kingsley.

"I am afraid this is out of my hands," Kingsley answered.

"Out of your hands?" Hermione chirped. "You're the Minister of Magic!"

"I am," Kingsley said. "However, it was not our laws you violated, but theirs," he went on with a nod to Liam.

"Theirs?" Hermione protested further. "And who, exactly, are they?"

Almost simultaneously, both Liam and Draco lowered their heads and began to massage their temples. And though the movements mimicked each other, it was clear one displayed embarrassed frustration while the other indicated an annoyed impatience.

"Perhaps you should have been more informative and less impulsive," Liam offered to Draco, who offered nothing more than a fiery glare and gritting teeth in return. Liam then readdressed Hermione and Harry. "It is apparent you have no inclination at to the severity of your actions," he explained calmly. "However, I consider myself a fair and balanced individual. I can place myself in the shoes of others and understand your minds are, no doubt, awash with relevant and unanswered question. So, in the interest of mutual understanding …"

With a wave of his walking stick, the candles adorning the walls of Kingsley's office went out and bathed the room in a sheet of darkness. Another wave summoned up a translucent sphere that hovered in the air before flatting into a two-dimensional rectangular image consisting of intersecting lines and spheres. Although it took a moment for Hermione's eyes to adjust, she eventually recognized it as an oversized world map.

Liam then approached Hermione and gave her a quick once over.

"Hermione Granger, of common birth, or _Muggleborn_ , as you say" Liam began. "Weasley by marriage to one Ron Weasley. No children. Parents in the field of dental hygiene, repair, and construction. Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at age eleven. Graduated in eight years, having missed the entirety of her seventh year due to complications arguably beyond her control. Completely unaware of the existence of magic in any sense beyond fantasy until she received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, after which she immediately practiced several simple spells; a direct violation of the Ministry's laws forbidding the underage use of magic outside of school, but overlooked for the harmless effects as well as her unknowing of any such restrictions at the time."

Hermione wanted to respond but found herself unable to do so. Liam's tone was so quick, so precise and unwavering, and his information uncomfortably thorough. For the first time since she had arrived in Kingsley's office, she felt overwhelmed.

Turning away from Hermione, Liam then stood before Harry.

"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, born of Pure Blood," he began in the same manner as he had with Hermione. "Married to one Ginny Weasley. Three children; James, Albus, and Lily. Parents murdered when he was but an infant leaving him to spend his young life with his common and emotionally abusive relatives, his only comfort found within the seclusion of his room; a less than spacious cupboard beneath the stairs. Received several notices of his acceptance to Hogwarts, only to be officially enrolled when said invitation was personally delivered by Hogwarts' groundkeeper, a half-giant by the name of Hagrid, on his eleventh birthday while his family attempted to evade the aforementioned acceptance letter by hiding away in the relatively dilapidated _Hut-on-the-Rock_. Did not graduate, having missed the entirety of his seventh year due to complications arguably, albeit perhaps less so, beyond his control, only to never return again. While often confused by happenings within his surroundings, completely unaware of the existence of magic in any sense beyond fantasy until he received his acceptance letter to Hogwarts … Several times over."

"You've done your homework," Harry spoke up, not nearly as unsettled by Liam's behavior as Hermione had been. Although how this was possible, she could not begin to imagine. "But if this is meant to be some form of threat, you've—"

"Believe me when I say if I was, indeed, threatening you, there would be no need for clarification," Liam warned. "This was merely a sample of what we know, and attempt to introduce who we are."

"And who are you?" Harry asked.

"Sadly, that is not the question you should be asking," Liam answered, returning to a contemplative pacing before Hermione and Harry. "So for the sake of keeping things on track, may I ask you … Have you ever done the arithmetic?"

This time Harry did not have an answer. Whether he did not know what to say or simply did not understand the question, Hermione could not be certain. Either seemed plausible as Hermione felt particularly confused by the query.

"No?' Liam asked after allowing for the moment of awkward silence to run its course. He then moved on to Hermione. "Have you?"

"You will have to be more clear," Hermione answered, clenching her jaw in order to restrain herself from striking at Liam where he stood.

"Indeed," Liam agreed. "Perhaps this will help enlighten your minds," he continued, pointing his walking stick towards the large translucent map that continued to hover above them.

"You're going to enjoy this," Dollus whispered to Hermione and Harry with an excited grin.

"How many schools of witchcraft and wizardry are currently educating the gifted young minds in this world?" Liam began as he tapped an area in the vicinity of Scotland. "Hogwarts …" An image of Hogwarts castle appeared on the map. "Beauxbatons, Durmstrang …" he went on, tapping the map near France and Scandinavia as the schools appeared. He continued in this fashion of listing and tapping as several more schools popped up. "Mahoutokoro, Koldovstoretz, Uagadou, Ilvermorny, and …" He paused, closing his eyes and waving his index finger in contemplation. "I am missing one …"

"Castelobruxo," Kingsley offered.

"Yes," Liam said with a snap. "Castelobruxo. Eight schools in all the world." He now turned to readdress Hermione and Harry. "And how many students would you say are enrolled within each of these institutes of learning at any given time? Three hundred? Six hundred? Shall we estimate on the side of overreaching optimism and say one thousand?"

Each of the schools on the map now became more defined and sprung out into a three-dimensional field over the two-dimensional map.

"Given this number, we can estimate there are, worldwide at any given time, eight thousand students being trained in the various magical arts," Liam explained.

"A very generous number, I'd say," Dollus pointed out.

"And I would agree," Kingsley added.

"While true, for the sake of simplicity, it will have to do," Liam said. "And in that same vain, add to this number an additional sixteen thousand to account for parents, grandparents, and other such relations that have already graduated but have yet to pass on. We come to approximately twenty-four thousand users of magic worldwide blending into a population of several billion people. How long do you suppose it would be until such a small fraction would simply disappear from existence, their bloodlines having been thinned out to extinction and lost to history?"

In truth, this was a concept Hermione had never contemplated. Magic existed. And as such, those capable of harnessing magic and bending it to their will existed as well. The actual numbers involved, nor how impossible sustaining existence with said numbers, was not an equation that had ever crossed Hermione mind. It simply was because it was.

"So the question that should be eating away at you," Liam continued, "clawing its way to the surface in a desperate need for clarity and resolution is not who we are, but rather from whence did it all come."

All at once, a light went off in Hermione's head. The complex simplicities of a world she had taken for granted throughout her life had, in a matter of seconds, become infinitely complicated with impossible formulas and illogical leaps of faith only to resolve itself with one single, almost overly obvious answer.

"Voldavia," she said, her tone a wild cocktail of confidence, strength, fear, and doubt.

A final sweep of Liam's walking stick dissolved the map and school while simultaneously relighting the candles about the office.

"Wait," Harry said. "You're saying magic was brought here from Voldavia?"

"Everything comes from somewhere," Liam answered.

"But why?" Harry asked, seemingly finding this revelation difficult to accept.

"Why?" Liam echoed.

"Why" Harry reiterated. "Why here? Why such small numbers? Why …" he bumbled for a moment, attempting to collect thoughts that simply would not express themselves clearly. "Why everything?"

"For the same reason as any civilization as it goes through the process of cultural evolution," Liam explained. "A search for knowledge, a sharing of ideas, exploration, expansion …"

"If that's true," Harry went on, now pressing his hand to his forehead in anxious contemplation, "then the whole thing doesn't make a bit of sense. A search for knowledge, sharing ideas, expansion … Then why are we forced to live in hiding from Muggles. And the numbers? Twenty-four thousand in a world of several billion? I don't know how miniscule that fraction is, but it hardly seems … I don't know … Like expansion. I mean, magic has been here for … like … forever."

Hermione was stunned by Harry's reactions. While she felt very much the same, she had never really considered Harry one to think in such a manner. He was far more a person of faith and belief, particularly when it came to the wizarding community. Suddenly, he had become someone altogether different right before Hermione's eyes.

"Not quite forever," Liam corrected as he held his walking stick out horizontally. "Allow me to explain."

He then released his walking stick and it hovered in the air before segmenting in uniform breaks, each section twisting vertically so as to resemble a form of visual timeline.

"Thousands of years ago our ancestors first arrived in your world, having traversed the Veil," he explained as images of what appeared to be pyramids and ziggurats appeared above the first segmented section of the line, quickly followed by temples of Greek and Roman design further down. "At that time, our numbers were far greater. We were accepted, respected, even revered for our talents. We found that the energies in this world, much like in our own, could be manipulated and bent to our wills. While not as strong as Voldavia, these energies were viable. And we also discovered that, like us, many individuals amongst your ancestors possessed the ability to harness theses energies. With proper tutelage, we were able to share our knowledge, to grow, to assimilate."

With a wave of his hand several other markers on the makeshift timeline displayed various images that ranged from Medieval and Renaissance era architecture to religious symbols and sculptures.

"However, all worlds do not evolve in the same manner," Liam continued. "In time, acceptance and reverence turned to fear and persecution." Shadowy images appeared, displaying bodies hanging from trees and burning upon pyres engulfed in flames. "We came to the realization that we had but two alternatives. Retreat to the shadows and maintain a presence, albeit a small and quiet one …"

"Or?" Hermione asked.

"Or conquer you people," Dollus offered with a grim certainty.

Liam cast a glance toward Dollus before continuing. "Some agreed with the former," he explained. "Others the latter. Without a united front, both avenues failed. The commoners won out with their sheer numbers and ever-increasing tools of destruction. The wizarding world not only went into hiding, but fell under the restrictions agreed upon by the various governmental bodies that scatter your lands. If we were to stay, we were to abide by their decrees, their rules, their regulations. A free and open world of magic became riddled with age restrictions, location limitations, and absolute bans on any number of powerful magics, Dark and otherwise. Walk the proverbial line or we disappear," he finally concluded. "These were the options bestowed upon us after the fall."

Liam reached out and grasped a section of his walking stick. With a few clicks and snaps, all the sections reassembled as the shadowy imagery that hovered about them faded away.

"And that's it?" Hermione asked. "Every just walks this _proverbial_ line?"

"If that were true," Liam answered, "we would not be here, would we?"

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. Feeling suddenly suffocated within her own environment, the lingering sense of doubt she had always carried with her throughout her life emerged and tore at her confidence; a mask she had worn very well in recent years.

"Are we being arrested?" she asked, her voice far weaker than she had intended.

"Oh, enough already!" Draco spoke up. "You're not being arrested, and neither is Harry."

With what had been occurring, Hermione had almost forgotten Draco was even there. He had remained silent throughout Liam's exposition, no doubt because he was already aware of most, if not all, of what was being revealed. Once such a bitter adversary, Hermione never dreamed a day would come that his voice would bring any amount of relief.

"Are you so certain?" Liam asked.

Draco approached Liam and looked him directly in the eye. "I am," he answered in a firm and even tone. "So how about we move on, yeah?"

"Got brass on him, eh Liam?" Dollus said with a chuckle.

Liam simply stared back at Draco without a word. After a moment's tension, he smiled.

"Very well," he conceded. "You are not being detained in any manner," he went on with a glance towards Hermione and Harry. "To the contrary, you are being recruited."

"Recruited?" Harry asked. "Into what?"

Without another word, Liam placed his bowler cap upon his head, straightened his jacket, and turned to Kingsley.

"I believe that should be all for now," he said. "We will be in touch."

"I look forward to it," Kingsley said in return, standing and offered a nod of departure.

Offering no such pleasantries to Hermione, Harry, or Draco, Liam then left the office. Dollus followed behind and, while issuing no audible farewell, offered a nod and a wave as the door closed behind him with an echoing clank. Once the two were gone, Hermione felt a wave of pressure release all about her, as if she could finally breath after having been submerged in water.

"I don't think I like him," Harry mumbled.

"Get used to it," Draco mumbled in return.

Kingsley sat at his desk once again and began to casually sort through a handful of parchments that were scattered about. Not that he was ever one to show any form of severe emotion, his manner of calm and casual smile was almost unnerving.

"Minister?" Hermione asked.

"Miss Granger?" Kingsley offered in return.

"What now?" Hermione asked on with a shrugging gesture.

"Now I believe you three should return home," Kingsley answered.

"Go home?" Harry protested. "Now? Are you serious?"

"I am," Kingsley confirmed. "Take some time, rest, organize your thoughts."

"Have we been suspended?" Hermione asked as an enveloping sense of powerlessness grew within her.

"You have not," Kingsley assured with another smile. "As Liam has already informed, you have merely been recruited."

Somehow, these words, words clearly meant as encouragement, managed to further strip away at Hermione's confidence. She looked to Harry, then to Draco. The latter's expression indicated, much to Hermione's discontent, that it was not the time to be pushing back. The world had truly gone mad now that Draco had become any form of guide in her life, but she could not honestly argue against it.

Like scalded children, Hermione, Harry, and Draco filed out of Kingsley's office and continued off down the hall, set to spend the day at home, an impromptu holiday in a life that saw few of such luxuries. Albeit whether it was a gift or a punishment remained an uncertainty.

. . .

The following morning, Hermione was greeted by an owl with a message from Kingsley that she was to remain at home. It came with no further explanation, no further instruction, just a simple script …

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Kindly remain at home today._

 _\- Kingsley Shacklebolt_

 _Minister of Magic_

Hermione soon realized Harry and Draco received the same request with the same lack of reasoning. The next day was met with the same result, as was the one after. This left Hermione not only with a significant amount of free time, which offered little more than increasing anxiety, it also found her surrounded by questions from Ron, Arthur, Molly, and anyone else who caught wind of her unscheduled hiatus; questions she knew very well she could not answer.

On the third night, Harry and Ginny came over for dinner. As the evening died down, Hermione and Harry stole away for a moment to discuss what had occurred and what they feared may occur still. They each lamented over the guilt of having to keep such weighted secrets from their loved ones, as well as how being disallowed to return to work, thus spending more time amongst those with whom they could not speak to in regards to what truly lay beyond the Veil, only furthered this burden.

Harry mentioned he had been in contact with Draco, who had passed along little more than his initial request for patience. Sadly, this was a virtue currently in little supply.

After Harry and Ginny left for the evening, an evening Hermione had to admit allowed her to feel a sense of normality that had escaped her in recent days, the house grew quiet once again. Having an early start to the following day, Ron went upstairs and retired, leaving Hermione to sit alone across from the fireplace, staring into the burning embers. Reaching into the pocket of her knit sweater, she gently massaged the silver Sickle Altimus had given her as her thoughts began to wander. She was becoming frustrated and restless, but knew she needed to maintain a level head. It was a struggle in which she found herself failing.

She did not know how long she sat there gazing upon the tongues of fire as they lapped against the charred stones of the hearth. She did not know what sparked her motion, nor what numbed her sense of inhibition. But Hermione finally stood, crossed the room, quietly opened her front door, and Disapperated.

Moments later, she was standing aside a small pond only a short walk from 12 Grimmauld Place. It had been years since she had laid eyes upon this area. A walking path now ran along the shore, the old bench now showing rust in its frame, its wooden planks stripped bare of its paint. Even the plants and flowers that had been planted very much changed the view from the one she held in her memory. But still, the memory remained.

Slowly removing the Sickle from her pocket, Hermione raised the coin to her lips, her breath fogging the silver as she dared herself to continue. Closing her eyes as her heart beat through her chest, she allowed his name to escape in a whisper and waited.

Nothing.

In the silence of night, Hermione kept her eyes closed, listening in hopes of hearing anything beyond the nocturnal sounds of nature. As the seconds ticked by, the drumming in her chest slowed, only to be replaced by a sinking sense of hopeless loss. Her breath quivered as the reality her futile actions enveloped her. When she finally opened her eyes and looked about the empty area, the final spark of hope faded, leaving her emotionally vacant and cursing her own foolishness.

Staring at the coin in her hand, Hermione was almost temped to cast it into the waters that shimmered in the moonlight before her. Instead, she placed it back into her pocket, relinquishing her hold upon it as well as its hold upon her.

As she cast one last glance towards the pond, resigned to simply return home having found herself wanting and weak, she finally heard him … And her heart leapt into her throat.

"You do not very much look like Altimus …"


	12. Chapter 12 - Memories and Ruins

_Sooooo ... This was actually sort of finished on Wednesday. Just had to do a quick edit Thursday morning and it would be all set. Then turkey happened ... and mashed potatoes ... and stuffing, and gravy, and green bean casserole, and fresh baked bread, and cherry pie, and napping. Copious amounts of napping. That was followed by two solid days of leftovers, which is really just reliving the previous experience all over again._

 _And thus, I apologize for the delay due to my food coma. I hope everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving had a wonderful holiday. For those who do not, I hope you had a wonderful 4th Thursday in November._

 _Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Twelve -_

 _Memories and Ruins_

Hermione turned and saw Killian standing just beyond the brush on the far side of the path encircling the pond. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, even from the distance, his hair sweeping ever so slightly to the side from a passing breeze that had invaded the area. Without a word, he raised his hand, after which Hermione felt a tug from her pocket as the silver Sickle slipped out and arced through the air into Killian's grasp.

"How did you acquire this?" he asked, his gaze like cold stone upon her.

"I didn't steal it," Hermione answered out of nothing less than instinctual denial.

"I made no such insinuation," Killian said. "And that was a deflection, not an answer."

"I … um …" Hermione bumbled before regaining her composure. "Altimus gave it to me."

"Did he?" Killian asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "He said it would be useful if I ever needed to call upon any of you."

"And so you have," Killian said coolly as he returned the coin to Hermione with a flip of his thumb.

Hermione caught the Sickle awkwardly against her chest, nearly dropping it as it bounded and rebounded between her arms and body. After replacing the coin in her pocket, she looked to Killian who simply stared back at her with the same empty expression he had worn when she saw him near the tavern outside of Mitna.

"Your purpose?" he led after an uncomfortable silence.

"Oh … Yes …" Hermione said, again having to place herself back on track. "Liam," she began. "He came to see me."

"As should have been expected given what had occurred," Killian said.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "I mean, not Liam necessarily," she quickly corrected. "He was a bit of a surprise. But I guess it would make sense. He was always popping in back … Well … Before. I don't think Harry is very fond of him at all. I'm actually fairly certain he—"

"Is there a relevance to this?" Killian interjected.

"No …" Hermione answered. "I mean yes. But it's not …" She quickly felt as though she was losing focus only to be suddenly aware she may not have had a focal point to begin with.

"Have you summoned me simply to speak of Liam?" Killian asked.

 _No_ , Hermione thought. _That's not why …_

"I have questions that I need answered," she finally said, banishing her own thoughts in the process. "And no one seems willing to do so."

"Questions?" Killian pressed.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Ever since the night we passed through the—"

Hermione found her voice suddenly silenced with a wave of Killian's hand. She reached for her throat in desperation and panic as Killian darted towards her with unnatural speed, grasping her by the arm and Disapparating them from the area.

There was a crushing suffocation and a sensation of being pressed through water, quickly followed by the feeling of soft grass beneath her feet in an open area under a dark sky.

As quickly as it had gone, Hermione's voice returned. After taking several gasping breaths, she turned upon Killian with blood boiling in her veins.

"What in the bloody hell was that!" she shouted.

Surprisingly, Killian appeared stunned by the outburst; almost confused. It was more emotion than she had seen in him since she had first seen him in his cell at the Ministry.

"I …" he started before straightening up and reaffirming his cool and distant demeanor. "I had to stop you."

"Stop me?" Hermione chirped. "Stop me from what?"

"From speaking further," Killian answered curtly.

"Speaking fur—" Hermione began before her words choked out in exasperation. "So you just whisk me off, is that it? Drag me along against my will?" Again she was reminded of the time Killian had sickened himself with guilt over the very idea he had done such a thing. "How things have changed …"

Hermione kicked at the grass beneath her feet in frustration, both at how things were progressing as well as her instinctual reaction towards Killian's actions. She did not know why she had lashed out in such a manner. In truth, it was no real violation. But it was Killian, and such a lack of chivalry had never been his way. Not with her.

"Where have you taken us?" Hermione asked, finally making an attempt to look Killian in the eyes.

In doing so, she received her answer. Over Killian's shoulder, in the shadows beyond, Hermione saw the remains of what was once a lush garden maze. It was now little more than twisted roots and near bare branches, few with any amount of foliage at all. With a reluctant turn, Hermione turned around and her heart fell into her stomach as the ruins of the Finn Family Estate stretched out before her.

She could remember that moment as if it had only just occurred, see the simmering flames, smell the ash in the air. It was now overgrown and dilapidated, with few structures maintaining any amount of their integrity. But it was still there, a haunting reminder of a moment frozen in time.

"Why did you bring us here?" Hermione asked, staving off her welling eyes.

"Why did you summon me to that pond?" Killian asked in return. "From one memory to another, is it not?"

"Killian …" Hermione started, but then took a moment as she struggled to hold her emotions. "This is where your life fell apart."

Killian walked past Hermione and began towards the front entrance, or what remained of it.

"This is where I was born," he said without breaking his stride.

Hermione watched Killian as he continued on. His words cut her for reasons she could not quite sort out. He was born on these grounds, in the manor that lay in ruin before her. He laughed and played as a child in the surrounding fields. But the unmistakable makeshift gravestones, three in total, that lay at the base of the fallen foundation indicated that this was also where that boy, a boy Hermione had known and cared for, ceased to exist, replaced by the man who arose from his ashes, reborn by tragedy.

After wrestling with her conscience and long buried guilt over paths and decisions she could no longer change, Hermione followed Killian, crossing the threshold and entering the old, and now decrepit, foyer within the house of Finn.

"I'm sorry," she said to Killian's back, her suddenly soft-spoken voice echoing off the tattered interior.

"Do not apologize," Killian said with a turn of his head, a turn that fell just short of gazing at Hermione. "It is a—"

"Sign of weakness, I know," Hermione finshed. "But not between us, right?" she followed up quickly with a weak, yet sincere smile she knew Killian could not even see from his position. "Isn't that what you once told me?" she pressed on as she took a step to bridge the gap between them. Upon receiving no response, she reached out and placed a hand on Killian's shoulder. "Killian?"

"Why did you summon me?" Killian finally asked, turning towards Hermione as her hand fell from him.

"I … I'm …" Hermione bumbled, thrown by Killian's dismissal of her meager attempt at nostalgia. "As I already mentioned," she finally said. "I have questions."

"And you believe I have answers?" Killian asked, although Hermione believed it to be less a question and more an assumption of fact.

"I … I know you do," Hermione asserted, although not as firmly as she had hoped. "And I believe you are more likely than anyone else to give them to me."

"And what would make you believe that?" Killian asked coolly as he sent a flame into the hearth, igniting the charred wood and bathing the room in a flickering light and enveloping warmth.

Hermione approached the fire and held out her hands to feel the heat against her chilled skin. Now better lit, she was able to see the various details of her surroundings that had moments before been lost in shadows. Broken furniture, a damaged staircase, tapestries and oil paintings worn and hanging askew. It was a cold and miserable sight not befitting the magnificent home it had once been.

"Who is the man behind the mask?" Hermione asked after she had seen all she could bear within the architectural ghost. "What is his connection to Tiberius Mourdim?" she pressed on after being met with nothing but silence. "You went after Tiberius … Twice," she continued. "Then you disappear, only to reappear when … whoever those people were, showed up in Knockturn Alley. It was not a coincidence. How is it all connected?"

Killian remained silent. Hermione cast a glance in his direction, seeing that he, like she, was gazing into the flames. If not for that fact that she knew he was simply hiding beneath a mask of his own, his expression would have seemed almost mesmerized as the fires reflected off his eyes, enhancing their flinch as he cast a subtle glanced back at her as well.

"What is the Spiorad Dru—" Hermione began.

"The Spiorad Druma is one half of talisman," Killian explained in a hesitant, yet punctuated tone.

Hermione could hear the struggle in his voice, but was surprised just the same that he had said anything at all. Daring another glance in Killian's direction, she saw his brow furrowed, his jaw firmly clenched to the point the muscles along its line pulsed in methodic rhythm.

"One half?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Useless on its own," Killian explained further. "Offers little more than inaudible whispers. Combined with its sister, however … It can be extraordinarily dangerous."

"Its sister?" Hermione asked.

"The Eye of Infinitio," Killian answered.

"The Eye of …" Hermione echoed in contemplation. "I don't suppose you have it?"

"No," Killian answered.

"Of course not," Hermione said with a sigh. "It couldn't be that simple. And you don't know where it is, do you?" she asked on, although she was certain of the answer before Killian offered a simple shake of his head. "But the Spiorad Druma," she continued. "The man in the mask—"

"Senshi," Killian said, his eyes still fixed on the crackling fires in the hearth. "Lord Akuma Senshi."

"Lord?" Hermione asked, more out of reflex than actual curiosity. In truth, the title seemed well fitted to his imposing figure. "He's seeking out this Eye of Infinitio?"

"He among others," Killian answered.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

Killian suddenly turned to Hermione, grasping her arms in his hands and looking her directly in the eyes. His gaze was piercing, but without force, and there was a hidden compassion beyond his expression of stone.

"Hermione, you should not be here," he said, his strong and firm tone masking his wavering words. "This is not your world, not your fight."

Her arms now pressed to her side, her motion restricted, Hermione slowly reached up, grasping the underside of Killian's forearms, the only things within her reach. Her heart pounded and her breath shortened as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"I beg your pardon," she began slowly and as articulately as she could manage. "But I believe I saw your little Triad engaging with this Lord Senshi and his … whatever … in the middle of Diagon Alley. So it appears to me that your world has very much poured into mine."

Killian looked away and released his hold upon Hermione. Hermione, however, did not, her grip remaining firm.

"You know I'm not going anywhere," she said, although she could not manage to meet Killian's eyes again. "So please," she went on, reluctantly allowing her hands to fall back to her sides. "Tell me who else is searching?"

Crossing the room and sitting upon a tattered chair, Killian sat down, causing a plume of dust to spread out around him. Hermione thought to do the same, but decided against it, preferring to let the dust lie where it was.

"Aside from others like Senshi," Killian finally answered. "The Conclave."

"And that would be …" Hermione led.

"The equivalent of your Ministry," Killian explained. "With the very distinct exception that the Conclave does not abide by Commoner subjugation. The Conclave is the law of the land. Things are very different here, Hermione."

"So it seems," Hermione agreed. "I can't imagine you working for the Ministry. But here you are, tracking down talismans for your Conclave."

"You believe that?" Killian asked.

"Why else would you have tried to stop Senshi," Hermione asked, "if not to help the Conclave."

"To keep it from them as well," Killian answered with a curt punctuation.

There he was, much more recognizable as the Killian Hermione once knew. Not the cold exterior or lack of emotion, but the headstrong rebellious nature. One versus the world and any ruling party. It was the most defined of his youthful flaws, but one that somehow became his most endearing to Hermione.

"How does Tiberius fit into all of this?" Hermione asked.

"Tiberius is a puppet," Killian explained. "Nothing more."

"For this Lord Senshi?" Hermione asked on.

"No," Killian answered. "For the Outcast."

"The Outcast?" Hermione echoed, stifling a laugh. "I was unaware your world had such melodramatic monikers."

"This from the world that coined He Who Shall Not Be Named," Killian returned.

Hermione crinkled her nose at Killian. "Point taken," she conceded. "For the record, I never truly supported any fear of a name."

"It is not the name they fear," Killian clarified grimly. "Nor the name they follow."

An icy chill went up Hermione's spine. "Who is this … Outcast," she asked, now entirely uncertain she even wished to know.

As open as Killian had been with her recent queries, this time he offered nothing. Instead he stood up, drew his staff, and a small orb of bright blue light erupted from its end.

"I seem to recall you enjoyed my family's library," he said as the orb darted away down a ransacked hall and disappeared from view. "You'll find you answers there."

He then began for the threshold leading to the cool night air of the surrounding grounds. As he passed Hermione, however, she reached for him, again grasping his arm firmly.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to leave," Killian answered, now avoiding her eyes just as he had when they first arrived.

"But—" Hermione began to protest.

"Hermione," Killian said with a wavering of firmness and doubt. "I have to leave."

For the second time, Hermione reluctantly relinquished her hold upon Killian. But she would not let him leave. Not just yet. There was still another question she had yet to ask. Or in the very least, had not received an acceptable explanation.

"Why did you bring me here, Killian?" she asked. When Killian did not answer immediately, she pressed further. "You said you had to stop me … Stop me from speaking further. What did you mean by that?"

In truth, Hermione did not expect an answer. She held little hope for any reaction at all beyond a sudden Disapparition that would leave her alone in the cold dark ruins surrounding her. When Killian turned back to her, it was easily his most unexpected of actions of anything that had happened that night.

"How long have you been away from the Ministry," he asked.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, puzzled by the question.

"How many days have you been asked to stay home?" Killian clarified.

"How do you know about—"

"How many?"

"Today is three," Hermione finally answered.

"Have you spoken to anyone of the Veil or what lay beyond during that time," Killian asked further.

"Not really," Hermione answered.

"Not really or not at all," Killian asked on.

"What difference does it make?" Hermione protested, now feeling frustrated by Killian's lack of forthrightness.

"You were being tested," Killian said.

"Tested?" Hermione choked.

"Placed within the safety of your own environment," Killian explained further. "Left to your own ends without the Ministry's eyes upon you. Would you show discretion, trustworthiness?"

"Are you saying they were watching me?" Hermione asked as a knot arose in her stomach.

"Listening," Killian clarified.

"Listening?" Hermione asked on, now feeling like a foolish child, merely mimicking words that were being said around her.

"I am certain you are familiar with a taboo," Killian said. "The Watchers have a great many of them in use in your world. They have no such effect here, however."

Several memories burst through Hermione's mind. Dollus appearing in Hogsmeade when she and Luna were waiting for Killian to return, Liam and Aeris at Hogwarts on during the Christmas holiday, the strange man in Hogwarts library who arrived from nowhere and seemed to disappear just as easily … Each time Hermione had been speaking of or listening to various stories of Voldavia. The night she removed _Descending Magic_ from the restricted section, the night the Watchers attempted to take her and Luna away. And Luna had even mentioned her father had owned a copy of the book, only to have it by the Watchers who haunted the areas around the Lovegood home, no doubt due to Xenophilius' interest in the very same subject.

"I didn't …" Hermione began before swallowing hard and desperately trying to remember everything she had said over the previous three days. "I haven't said anything. I mean I spoke to Harry," she quickly corrected. "But it was only about my frustrations with being shut out by the Ministry. Nothing more."

"If that is true," Killian said, "then I am certain we will see each other again."

"And what if I'm wrong?" Hermione asked desperately. "I don't' remember everything I've said. I didn't know."

Killian did not answer, but he did finally meet her eyes again. "Goodbye Hermione," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Wait," Hermione spoke up quickly before he could leave or Disapparate. She then reached into her pocket and removed the silver Sickle. Holding out her hand, she displayed it in her palm for Killian. "This belonged to Altimus," she said. "And it was quite evident by your reaction that he should not have given it to me."

Killian looked down at the coin, glistening in the flickering firelight.

 _Please do not take it back_ , Hermione thought. _Please_ …

The room became so quiet the cracking of the embers sounded like drums echoing off the cracked and dusty walls. Hermione could hear his breath, see his pulse in the vein that ran beneath the smooth skin of his neck. He slowly reached out, placing only the tips of his first two fingers on the coin, the scarred letters of the Blood Quill still evident on the back of his hand. He then closed Hermione's hand around the silver Sickle, holding on for but a moment before releasing.

"You should hurry," he said with a glance towards the hall he had sent the glowing orb. "The light will not last forever."

Before Hermione could offer any more distractions, any more delays, Killian vanished before her eyes. Hermione squeezed the Sickle in her fist for a moment, then placed it to her lips, both thankful and somehow riddled with anguish. Even so, she managed to stifle her emotions enough to process a clear thought.

"The light," she thought aloud as she drew her wand and held it high. " _Lumos_!"

Her wand now alit, Hermione began down the hall. It had been many years, and the significant structural damage and deterioration made recognition all the more difficult. Even so, she managed to find her way to what remained of the once magnificent library. What she saw, however, quickly caused the knot in her stomach to sink further.

The ceiling had collapsed near the center, leaving the room open to the night sky. The ornate floor was a twisted mess of burned fixtures, warped and worn furniture, and row upon row of books decimated by flame.

Upon glancing up the now rusted spiraling gunmetal staircase that led to the library's second tier, Hermione was astonished to see a good portion of the area virtually untouched. How such a treasure of knowledge had not yet been pillaged from the manor's ruins, Hermione could not fathom.

She thought of how Kuulic had mentioned all those years ago that he could not bring her back because Killian had placed a barrier around the estate. Perhaps it was still intact and had kept the grounds safe from any potential looters. Even so, as Hermione strode through pools of waters that had gathered from over a decade of rains and snows pouring in through the open roof, she realized whatever barrier may or may not be in place, little had been done to keep nature at bay.

Carefully traversing the floor, Hermione caught a glimpse of the same bluish glow that emanated from the orb Killian had cast. She followed its light up to the second tier and right through the area that held the Finn family's collection of literature that would, no doubt, have made the Ministry's list of contrabands. She recalled her shock at the realization that the library held such tomes, how she warned Killian of the dangers involved in owning such things, legal and otherwise. She also remembered his relative dismissal of her fears. Now in better context, his reaction seems to have been somewhat more appropriate than it had at the time.

As Hermione passed through the towers of literature, she finally tracked down the source of the light; two books, radiating with brilliance only a shelf apart from each other. One of the books she clearly remembered from her prior visit. _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ by Artimus Tempus.

"Fiction indeed," she mused to herself, finding the thought almost humorous given where she currently was.

She then looked upon the second of the books Killian had guided her towards. It was large and very old, its pages yellowed, bindings frayed, and ink faded. _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_.

Hermione's eyes lit up as she removed the aged manuscript from the shelf. This book, more than any stories of a fanciful world she had only recently discovered to be real, piqued her curiosity and awe beyond any hope of restraint. She knew very well of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Sometime between the 1930s to the 1940s an anonymous publication circulated throughout the wizarding community concerning the preservation of pure blood. Within the publication was a list of what was believed to be the last remaining families in Britain whose bloodline remained pure. Twenty-eight families to be exact. The Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But even in knowing this, Hermione realized that something did not add up. This anonymous publication, albeit there was great speculation that it was written by Cantankerus Nott, had been penned and pressed well within the last century. The book Hermione held within her hands was far older. Regardless of any smoke or fires, the very visible damage was that of the wearing of years. Hermione's thoughts on the matter were confirmed further as she carefully opened the book, feeling its spine crackle in his palm. Scribed by an artistic hand, the pages were filled with texts and sketches beyond Hermione's imaginations.

And it was not as if she had never seen an ancient book in her day. Between the libraries at Hogwarts and the nearly limitless access she now had due to her position in the Ministry, Hermione had read through dozens upon dozens of aged tomes that held near limitless information. This was something different, something she could not place her finger on. And though she cursed the air for her sudden realization, it was something she knew would have to wait. If only for a little while.

The lights that dazzled the two books Killian had marked had now faded. She needed to go, to return home before Ron realized she had left … If he would realize.

Shaking off a sudden bout of melancholy, Hermione closed _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_ and grabbed the copy of _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_. She then hugged the books firmly to her chest and Disapparated.


	13. Chapter 13 - The Sacred Twenty-Eight

_This is another short little chapter, but kind of an important one for Hermione. At least I think it is. As much as I'd love to skip over all of this and just get back to writing Hermione and Killian doing their Hermione and Killian thing ... Actually I don't know how to complete that thought. I'd really, really like to do that. Soon ... Very soon. Just need to lay a few more bread crumbs._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Thirteen -_

 _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_

Hermione arrived safely at home, the silence of her living room broken only by the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Seeing the room was vacant, she quietly walked up the stairs, her newly acquired literature still pressed to her chest.

When she reached her bedroom, she placed her hand on the door, opening it just enough to glance within. Ron was fast asleep in a twist of blankets and pillows, seemingly unknowing of Hermione's absence from their bed. He had not awoken to find her missing, had not paced the house nervously awaiting her return. He had simply fallen asleep.

Closing her eyes, Hermione rested her head against the door frame. She should join Ron in bed, join her husband. She wanted it. More honestly, she wanted to want it. For some reason, such a common task seemed overly monumental at the moment. And as such, Hermione simply could not bring herself to enter the room.

Standing alone, her head pressed firmly to the wood, Hermione listened to the ambient sounds surrounding her. The aforementioned clock in the foyer methodically ticking away, Ron's breath as he slept, the cracks of the old house settling in the night … Hermione was home, yet somehow felt so very far from it.

Physically weary, but emotionally at unrest, Hermione quietly retreated down the stairs and curled up on the sofa across from the hearth. Turing on the small lamp on the end table aside the sofa, she then opened the first of the two books she had collected from the Finn library; _The Sacred Twenty-Eight._

Now able to read freely, Hermione carefully glanced through first several well-worn pages. The handwritten script was difficult to decipher on its own, its ink having severely faded over the years. To make it worse, however, the book appeared to be written in some olden form of English. At least parts of it seemed to be. Other parts were completely foreign.

From the bits she could outright read, or at least roughly translate, Hermione was able to put together that the ancient book was a collection of family trees; twenty-eight families to be exact. Stranger still, it did appear to be a single tree for each family, but rather a series set in sequences, each sequence representing a single generation from the first family to the last before repeating again. As the generations moved forward, Hermione noticed the faded ink became darker, the language more recognizable and easier to read. It was clear this book had been written in stages over many decades, if not centuries, with each author adding to the works of the previous.

As Hermione continued to flipped through the first few pages, a name caught her eye.

 _Gryphindour_

 _Tima fram Jaedon 742-767_

"No …" Hermione whispered in disbelief. "That can't be …"

Her eyes danced across the page, searching for familiarity, but finding none. Just old names. Convinced this could not simply be a coincidence, she continued ahead through several generations until she came across the name again; albeit not exactly.

 _Gryffindor_

 _Tima fram Jaedon 992-1017_

Again, Hermione scanned the page, sifting through the names of men, women, and children who had long since passed. Then she found it. The sight caused Hermione's breath to catch in her throat and she attempted to wrap her mind around such a revelation. There it was, plainly scribed, and clear as day …

 _Godric Gryffindor, sunu fram Julius, geboren begeondan se Vaeil Tima fram Jaedon 1007 (940)_

Turning back to the first few pages, Hermione feverishly scanned through the first list of families, finding nothing that resembled Hufflepuff nor Ravenclaw. Just a little further on, however, revealed another name … _Slythrenti_.

Returning to the generation where Hermione discovered Godric, she quickly skipped through the families until she came across the name she was seeking. She then scanned through the pages until she found him.

 _Salazar Slytherin, sunu fram Alonsico, geboren Tima fram Jaedon 1003_

Hermione placed the book on her lap, releasing it from her grip as she stared at the opened page. Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin … Two of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, both with origins far different than any Hermione recalled learning of in any library or classroom. It was overwhelming, although she could not quite assert as to why. She now knew another world existed, so the idea that any number of historic figures may or may not have originated from there should not seem terribly out of place. Even so, it left Hermione with an uneasy feeling of uncertainty.

Again, Hermione returned to the first several pages. This time she carefully began reading through the names, one by one.

"Akara … Asim …" she read aloud quietly as she went along. "Buckleigh, Deighton, Everleigh … Fionn." She took a deep breath as her fingers traced the faded ink. "It has to be," she thought aloud.

As she pressed through the years she saw his name, like Godric's and Salazar's, change from its ancient root of to its modern counterpart. With this transition came the same evolution of the texts, now more easily comprehendible as a language Hermione knew well.

Before she had reached the end, however, Hermione discovered the book's contents to be blank. Flipping back, she saw that a great number of pages at the end were devoid of ink and artistry. She then realized that this book was not yet complete. It was meant for further additions documenting future generations yet to be born, making it a living, breathing piece of literature.

Backtracking to the latest entries, Hermione stopped upon the page she sought. Again tracing the script with her finger, she suddenly stopped, her eyes fixated on a single line.

 _Killian Finn, son of Artorius, born beyond the Veil, Era of Galei 477 (1979)_

Even with everything Hermione had experienced over the previous days, somehow seeing his name scribed on the page somehow made it all the more real. Almost frighteningly so. It was then that a particular memory flitted through her consciousness.

" _Is it true?"_

" _Yes …"_

" _For how long?"_

" _I've never known them not to be …"_

Keeping her hand on the current page, Hermione returned to the beginning. Why she felt the need to start there, she did not know. But it did not take long for her to find it … _Malifoi_. As she turned back to the most recent entries, Hermione was filled with a sinking sense of isolation, like a simple spectator on the outside looking in. A few more turns of the page and the feeling settled in ever deeper.

 _Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, born beyond the Veil, Era of Galei 478 (1980)_

Her mouth had gone dry and a painful pressure emerged in her chest as Hermione stared at Draco's entry. As much as she attempted to dismiss the enveloping sensation, she could not purge the sudden sense of foolishness, sudden sense of loneliness, sudden sense of emptiness.

" _The ties between the Finns and the Malfoys go back generations. All politics and social mingling."_

Filled with doubt, she now felt as though she had never really known Killian … Never really known anything at all. It was an irrational thought. Completely and utterly irrational. Even so, it was overwhelming to the point Hermione could no longer look upon the book.

Closing its cover and placing it aside the lamp on the end table, Hermione curled up and lay her head upon the armrest of her sofa. Pressing her eyes, she tried to imagine the world as she knew it only a few days prior; her simple complicated world, a world in which she felt comfortable, a world in which she knew who she was as well as who she had been.

As her body began to settle, if from nothing more than sheer exhaustion, she felt a hand gently caress her cheek and as a familiar and soothing voice echoed softly in her ear.

" _Hermione …"_

Hermione's eyes burst open before immediately pressing tight to block out the blinding morning light that that blazed through the windows. As she sat up, shielding the sun with her hand, she saw Draco sitting in a chair aside the hearth, his legs casually crossed as he stared at Hermione whilst impatiently tapping an envelope against his thigh.

"What are you—" Hermione began as she sat up quickly and looked around. "Where's Ron?"

"At work, I imagine," Draco answered. "As most people would be by this time of the morning."

"He let you in?" Hermione asked on.

"He was gone when I arrived," Draco said with a dismissive sigh. "I let myself in."

"Gone?" Hermione continued with a glance towards the stairs followed by another towards the door. "Why didn't he …" Her voice tapered off.

"Wake you?" Draco concluded. "Very good question, and I really don't care."

Gently massaging the ache in her head, Hermione turned back to Draco.

"What are you …" she began as she straightened up and put her feet on the floor. "Why are you here?"

"When you didn't arrive at the Ministry this morning, it arose a bit of a stir,' Draco explained. "I was asked to look in on you."

"The Ministry?" Hermione asked, groggily shaking the cobwebs from her head. "We're on leave."

"Oh yes," Draco scoffed. "I assumed that aside from sleeping through your husband's departure, you also slept through this morning's owl."

He then held out the envelope he had been drumming against his leg. Hermione took the missive and quickly tore it open to read its contents.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Kindly report to my office at_

 _your earliest convenience._

 _\- Kingsley Shacklebolt_

 _Minister of Magic_

"I believe the _earliest convenience_ part was more a courteous gesture than an indication you could arrive when you please," Draco said with a sarcastic smirk.

"Wait, now?" Hermione asked, suddenly wide awake and alert.

"Or I could fluff your pillows and you could lie down for a bit longer," Draco mocked. "Would you like a blanket? Maybe a nice warm cup of tea? No?" he went on. "Right, so maybe you should get yourself ready to go. Harry and Kingsley have been waiting for hours."

Hermione stood and began for the stairs before stopping and looking about the floor and end table in a panic.

"I put them under the sofa," Draco said. "Not the best things to leave lying about."

Hermione glanced under the sofa and saw the copy of _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_ and _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ safely tucked away.

"I'd inquire as to how you obtained them," Draco went on with a raised eyebrow. "But do I really need to ask?"

Hermione did not answer. She was certain no answer was required. Draco knew. It seemed as though Draco always knew.

"Off with you," Draco dismissed with a wave of his hand. "We have work to do."

Although irritated to no end by his aristocratic arrogance, Hermione complied with no objection, racing up the stairs and readying herself for the day.


	14. Chapter 14 - Return and Depart

_Okay, back from hiatus. It has been a while, as I got momentarily sidetracked by a dream I has about, oddly, some kind of romance involving time travel. But it was incredible, vivid, passionate, and heartbreaking ... Anyways, I absolutely knew I had to make a story out of it, so I took a break from this story to write an outline for that one. But now that it is finished, I can resume here. Of note, this was supposed to be posted last Monday, but I forgot to forward the final edit of it from my work computer ... and then I went on vacation for a week. So ... Yeah ... Sorry._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Fourteen -_

 _Return and Depart_

"Hermione!" Harry greeted with a mixture of excitement and concern as Hermione entered Kingsley's office alongside Draco. He quickly rose from his chair and crossed the room, placing his hands upon Hermione's shoulders and giving her a quick once over. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly," Hermione answered. "Just overslept is all," she continued, uncomfortably avoiding Harry's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed. "When you didn't arrive this morning, I got worried."

"Found her out cold on the sofa," Draco offered with his customary lack of tact. "Sleeping like a baby. Long night, no doubt."

"The sofa?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"It's not—" Hermione whispered back before catching herself and starting again. "It's fine, Harry. I just fell asleep."

"On the sofa?" Harry asked on.

His expression of concern did not falter. Instead it almost seemed to intensify.

"I'm fine, Harry," Hermione insisted, forcing a smile of assurance. "I promise."

Before Harry could interrogate further, the door to the office burst open and Kingsley entered with purpose in his stride. Upon seeing Hermione, he stopped short, his expression lighting up as a smile washed over his face.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he greeted. "At last."

"Minister," Hermione greeted in return. "Glad to be back."

"As am I," Kingsley assured with a warm smile. "More than you know. Please," he went on, "if you will follow me."

With a quick turn, Kingsley exited his office in the same manner by which he had arrived. Hermione and Harry exchanged a befuddled glance before Draco quipped about it probably being better if they did not stand around like a couple of lost children.

The trio followed Kingsley along the same path Draco had taken through the Department of Mysteries the night he had taken Hermione and Harry through the Veil. This time, however, the chamber housing the Veil was not dark and empty. Instead, it was filled with a number of individuals, most of with whom Hermione was entirely unfamiliar.

At first glance, in fact, the only person of any recognition was Liam Buckley, who stood near the Veil engaged in quiet conversation with a young woman with long brown hair drawn into a single braid that fell over her shoulder. As Kingsley approached with Harry, Hermione, and Draco, however, the conversation ceased and all eyes were upon them.

"She has arrived," Liam said.

"Yes," Kingsley returned. "A bit later than expected, but well."

"Good to hear," Liam said with a nod. "Shall we begin?" He paused, glanced up in contemplation and then readdressed Hermione and Harry. "Or perhaps conclude would be more appropriate a term."

"Conclude?" Hermione asked.

"For three days the two of you have been on an administrative leave of a sort," Liam explained. "And I must apologize, as I was not entirely transparent as to the reasons why."

He then approached Harry, carrying two tattered folders, each appearing to contain a significant amount of paperwork within. After carefully lining them up in his grip, he opened the top folder and scanned through the first several pages.

"You were being tested," he explained, his eyes continuing to scan the various papers within the folder. "Are you responsible, sensible, dedicated, loyal? Would you keep safe the secrets of what lay beyond the Veil? Or would you share them? All in all … Could you be trusted?"

Killian's words rang through Hermione's ears as anxiety slowly began to seize upon her. Harry, on the other hand, appeared entirely calm. How he could be so, Hermione could not imagine. As it was, she could barely keep her hands from shaking, placing them in her coat pockets to hide any tell of her doubt or concern.

Liam closed the folder and finally addressed Harry directly.

"You, Harry Potter, have passed," he said. "Well done."

"With all due respect, it wasn't much of a test," Harry said with a coy grin. "I'm fairly certain you were aware we had taken a vow."

"You would be absolutely amazed at how often individuals find ways around an Unbreakable Vow, Mr. Potter," Liam said. "Or perhaps you wouldn't," he added. "Either way, there was more to the test than simply keeping your vow. You also held your tongue. You did not speak, even with those of whom you could. Responsible … Sensible … One never knows who is listening."

Harry smiled, then almost laughed. It was subtle, but the restraint in his expression was evident to anyone who knew him. His causal collectedness was maddening to Hermione. Even more so as Liam turned from Harry and approached her, now opening the second folder and reading through the pages held within.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he greeted in a proper, yet distant and disinterested tone. "You were quite late this morning."

"Technically, I was not required not be here at any specific time," Hermione pointed out. "I was informed to arrive at my earliest convenience."

"And your convenience was significantly later than expected," Liam returned. "Not feeling well?"

"Just tired," Hermione explained relatively convincingly.

"Eventful night?" Liam pressed.

"I do not believe my personal life is any business of yours," Hermione snipped, making no attempt to hide her discord amidst her fears of what Liam may or may not know.

Liam closed the folder and eyed Hermione.

"And what you do not believe would be incorrect," he punctuated curtly. "Everything in your lives is our business," he continued as the unfamiliar individuals accompanying Liam looked upon Hermione and Harry with judging eyes and blank expressions. Liam then looked to Hermione's hands, still in her coat pockets. "Cold or nervous?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione asked in return, thrown off by the query.

"Your hands," Liam reiterated with a nodding gesture. "Are you cold or nervous?"

Hermione could hear the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears as Liam awaited a response. Her nerves were at their breaking point as she cast subtle glances at the folder he held within his hands, fearing what may be contained within. What did he know? What would he do? Had she, like Harry, not spoken of anything that lay beyond the Veil? Had she shown herself to be responsible, sensible, and trustworthy? Her mind was ravaged as she struggled to remember everything and anything she had said during her three days of absence from the Ministry.

"Miss Granger?" Liam asked on.

"I'm not nervous," Hermione assured with as much confidence as she could summon.

Again, Liam eyed Hermione. The pause that followed seemed to last an eternity before he quickly and abruptly turned away, taking several steps to broaden the distance between them.

"Nor should you be," he said, turning back just as abruptly. "As it appears you, as well, have passed."

A sense of overwhelming relief washed over Hermione. She closed her eyes, willing herself to restrain any appearance of emotion, but knew she had failed miserably.

"It's over Miss Granger," Liam offered. "You may breathe now."

Hermione did not respond, imagining violent images of Liam being taken down a proverbial peg or two. She did, however, comply.

"So what does this mean?" Harry asked.

"It means you are now free to traverse the Veil," Liam answered with a candor that seemed far too overly simplified.

"Whenever we please?" Harry asked further.

"Yes," Liam replied with as much simplicity as his previous statement.

Before Liam could continue Harry began for the Veil, only to be frozen mid-step as the young woman Liam had been speaking to earlier drew her wand and, without a word, bound Harry in place.

"With one restriction, of course," Liam continued.

He then gestured for the young woman to release Harry, which she did without argument.

"And what restriction would that be?" Hermione asked as Harry flexed and stretched his neck and arms to regain both blood flow and feeling.

"Minister?" Liam offered with a nod to Kingsley.

Kingsley stepped forward, displaying two small sparkling gems in his hand. One was a brilliant red and held within a silver lapel pin, the other green and set within a small pendant on a thin silver necklace. Harry approached and he and Hermione looked upon the dazzling jewelry Kingsley presented.

"What are they?" Hermione asked as Harry grabbed the lapel pin, turning it over in his hand for closer examination.

"Melding Stones," Kingsley answered.

"They're beautiful," Hermione said, now holding the stone and chain and admiring it for herself.

"And quite useful," Kingsley offered.

"For?" Hermione asked leadingly.

"For a world in which you are quite unfamiliar," Liam answered before Kingsley could do so himself. "A world with different magic, different rules. One must be prepared."

"I don't suppose you will be indulging us regarding what, exactly, that is supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"I believe Draco would be more than happy to walk you through it," Liam answered. "Am I correct, Draco?" he went on with a glance to the Slytherin standing inconspicuously off to the side with an annoyed and impatient expression etched in his face.

"Oh, I would be thrilled," Draco replied, making no attempt to hide his discontent.

"You said there was one restriction," Harry spoke up.

"I did," Liam said. "And there is." With a wave of his walking stick, the Melding Stones were pulled from Harry and Hermione's grip, hovering before them. "You are to wear these at all times once you pass through the Veil, without exception. I cannot stress this more fervently."

"That's all?" Harry asked, his tone indicating he had far greater expectations as to what his restrictions would be.

"That is all," Liam confirmed. "Do we have an agreement?"

"Absolutely," Harry answered without hesitation.

Liam looked to Hermione. Not quite as enthusiastic as Harry, she agreed with a nod as the emerald stone held within her pendant glimmered before her eyes.

"Excellent," Liam said.

Another wave of his walking stick caused Harry's lapel pin to attach itself to Harry's lapel and Hermione's necklace to unclasp and glide towards Hermione's neck. Before it reached its mark, however, Kingsley grasped it from the air. He then held it out towards Hermione.

"If I may," he offered.

"Of course," Hermione answered, moving her hair aside to allow Kingsley to clasp the chain behind her neck, the cool silver now laying against the warm skin on her chest.

As he secured the necklace, Kingsley leaned in. "Take great heed," he whispered. "Allies and enemies can be indistinguishable. Do you understand?"

Again, Hermione found herself unable to conjure an audible answer, offering a subtle nod in its stead. Kingsley's cautionary words had stolen her voice as her gaze inadvertently fell upon Liam, the young woman at his side, and the entourage of less than inviting wizards in their company.

"Is that it then?" Harry asked of Liam.

"Yes," Liam answered simply.

"And we can come and go as we please?" Harry asked on.

"As you please," Liam assured.

"And this one's not going to bind me again?" Harry continued with a nod towards the young woman at Liam's side.

"Not if you behave yourself," the young woman offered with a raised eyebrow before Liam could respond.

"Now, now," Liam chastised lightly. "Manners, if you please."

The young woman lowered her head, albeit wearing a very coy, and unbelievably familiar grin. Hermione had seen that very expression a thousand times, but never from her current perspective. Before she could process it, however, Harry rather abruptly pulled away and stepped through the Veil.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him.

Neither Liam, Kingsley, nor any of the other wizards in the chamber offered any reaction to Harry departure. Draco, on the other hand looked to Hermione with impatience.

"Are you just going to stand there?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione asked. "We're going now?"

"Harry's more or less done so," Draco complained as he approached the Veil and stepped though, throwing his hands up in frustration. "In case you missed it …" his voice continued as he faded away beyond the heavy curtain.

"Oh … Okay …" Hermione bumbled as she took a few steps towards the Veil, glancing back at Kingsley for an indication of anything at all.

"You will be fine," Kingsley offered. "Of this, I am certain."

While comforting to a point, Kingsley's words were not what Hermione had hoped to hear. What she had hoped to hear, she could not say. Somehow sneaking through the Veil under cover of darkness felt far less uncomfortable than doing so with permission in front of an audience.

"I'd like to say I shared in your confidence, Minister," Hermione mumbled under her breath as she passed Liam and his female companion.

"I'd like to be queen of the world," the young woman spoke up.

Hermione's blood froze. Stopping in place, she turned back and looked upon her quizzically. Had she really just said that? A coincidence? An odd and unlikely one if it were true.

"Well …" Hermione began cautiously. "We all have our little disappointments."

"That we do," the young woman said, now wearing the same grin she had presented to Harry.

Her lack of comfort having now fallen through the floor, Hermione decided not to pursue further; particularly not in the present company. Without another word, she continued on with haste in her step and passed through the Veil, feeling the familiar pressure as the lights faded and reentered clarity until she was safely on the other side.

"Bloody hell!"

Draco's booming voice echoed off the walls in the dark an empty chamber as Hermione emerges from behind the heavy curtain.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as she glanced around. "Where's Harry?"

"He's gone," Draco answered. "Popped off as soon he came through."

"Popped off to where?" Hermione asked.

"Where do you think?" Draco asked as if it were the most ridiculous question Hermione could have asked under the circumstances. In truth, had she taken but a moment, she would have arrived at the proper conclusion herself.

"Well?" Draco asked with curt impatience. "Are you coming or not?"

Growing tired of Draco's attitude, Hermione simply Disapparated without answer. She knew where Harry had gone and needed no escort this time.

A moment later, she was standing in front of the Elkhorn Tavern on the outskirts of Mitna. A gust of wind swirled about, bringing a chill to her skin as she scanned the area, finding Harry exiting the tavern with disappointment.

"He's not here," Draco called out to Harry as he appeared aside Hermione. "It's a tavern, not an inn, you dolt."

"Then, where is he?" Harry asked.

"What happened to patience?" Draco asked in return.

"It's worn thin," Harry answered. "I've done everything you told me. So, where he is."

"Everything he told you?" Hermione asked, both thrown off and slightly confused by the comment.

"I can take you to him," Draco offered as he removed what appeared to be a small gray lump of clay. "But first …"

He broke the substance into two smaller pieces and approached Harry, He then flattened one of the sections and pressed it over the Melding Stone held within Harry's new lapel pin.

Turning to Hermione Draco repeated the process. When he reached for the pendant on her necklace, however, she slapped his hands away. While she knew very well what he was doing, Draco's hands upon her skin was far too improper for her liking.

"Fine," Draco spat as he tossed the flattened grey glob at Hermione. "Do it yourself then."

Hermione carefully pressed the claylike substance around her pendant and against her chest.

"What is this, Draco?" Harry asked and he rubbed a bit of the strange material between his thumb and fingers.

"It will muffle the beacon," Draco explained. "But only for a short while, so we need to be quick."

"Quick to—" Hermione began to ask, but was cut short as Draco grasped both hers and Harry's wrist, Disapparating them from the area, only to arrive at an open field with scattered trees, rolling hills, and mountains in the distance.

"Dammit all!" Hermione shouted as she pulled from Draco's grasp. "I am sick and tired of being dragged around at someone else's beck and call!"

"Well, a thousand pardons, Mistress," Draco said with a mock bow. "But neither of you have any idea where are or where you're going. And as I said, time is short. Not enough of it to catch you up."

"And where the hell are we now?" Hermione continued, here temper still on the rise as she felt less and less in control of her life and surroundings.

"Yeah," Harry asked in awe as he looked beyond Hermione's shoulder. "What is this place?"

Hermione spun around, her mouth falling ajar as she took in all that lay before her. A wall of stone and timbers encompassed the area. A gateway through the wall displayed an interior amass with individuals—some very much human in appearance, some very much not—gathered together around exhibitions, performances, competitions, and campfires. The aroma of fired meats filled the air along with cheers, laughter, and intoxicatingly merry music. It was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen.

"The Outland Circumbendibus," Draco explained. "Never find another place like it."

"No … I imagine not," Harry said, still looking on in wonderment as a pair of mountain trolls trudged by and entered through the gate, offering an almost friendly wave to Harry, Hermione, and Draco as they passed.

"Harry!" came Sirius' voice as he emerged from a group hovering around the gate.

"Sirius!" Harry beamed, crossing the open grass and meeting his uncle in a welcoming embrace.

"I'm so glad you're finally here," Sirius went on.

"Yes, yes," Draco interjected. "This is all warm and fuzzy. Where's your little friend?"

"Coming along," Sirius answered. "Grabbing a mutton leg. You absolutely much try one," he said with a nudge to Harry. "They are to die for."

Hermione then caught a glimpse of another individual passing through the entrance to the Circumbendibus. He was tall and lanky, ginger haired, and completely oblivious to the world around him as he buried his face in the large piece of mutton he was currently eating straight off the bone.

"So where are these gits, Sirius," he asked as he approached the group. "Love this place and all, but can't hang about forever. Missus will worry."

"George?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

George Weasley stopped mid-chew and med-step. "Oh … hey Hermione," he said with a casually silly grin as he swallowed hard. "And Harry …" he went on. "What brings you two here?"

"What brings us?" Hermione asked in exasperation.

"They're the gits," Draco answered.

"Ah …" George said, nodding as if in contemplation as he took another large bite of mutton. "Well this is unexpected, isn't it?"

Hermione could not have agreed more.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Outland Circumbendibus

_Okay, so I finally got another chapter posted. No really good excuse for the long delay aside from my sudden realization that I have struggled remaining focused on the current chapters because I so very much want to get to future chapters. One would think would motivate a person to complete said current chapters, but instead I find my mind constantly drifting. At any rate, I hope to have it under better control moving forward. Particularly with the next few chapters to come being some of the ones I have been anxiously awaiting the chance to write._

 _Alas, I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Fifteen -_

 _The Outland Circumbendibus_

Once past the initial shock of seeing George Weasley emerge from the gates of the Outland Circumbendibus, Harry and Hermione were escorted beyond the fortified stone walls and immersed within the chaotic merriment said walls contained.

The interior of the Circumbendibus could best be described as an enormous fairground. It was unlike any faire Hermione had ever witnessed, but bore all the characteristics one would attribute to such an event. There were dirt paths winding along various tents and simple shops of wood and clay selling anything from clothing, armor, weapons, potions, or any range of various food and drink. Larger areas were cleared out for exhibitions of weapon play, magic, acrobatics, and even dance. The entirety of it all seemed wild and untamed.

Even stranger than the activities, however, were those involved; both performers and spectators alike. Mixed among the crowds were elves similar to the house-elves she was accustomed to seeing in the company of humans. Also counted among those present were hulking trolls, much like the two Hermione had seen enter earlier, centaurs, wispy fairy-like creatures flittering around, and broad muscular creatures with wild hair and fangs like surly boars.

Yet, all present seemed to be getting on without issue. Hermione's memory of her encounter with a mountain troll during her first year at Hogwarts seemed to contradict such a possibility. But there it was, right before her, a melting pot of individuals who, by all rights, should be at each other's throats. Instead, they are sharing in laughs and cheers while clinking large mugs of ale before gulping down their contents.

"In here," Sirius said as he drew back the canvas of a large tent off the side of the path.

Hermione and Harry entered, followed by Draco, George, and Sirius. Once inside, Hermione was surprised to see that it was simply a tent; grass and dirt beneath their feet and canvas all around.

"Expecting hardwood floors and pillowed sofas?" George teased with a nudge to Hermione as he passed by.

"I suppose, yes," Hermione answered honestly.

"You're in the Outlands," Sirius said. "You'll find no such magic here."

"There's no magic here?" Harry asked.

"Oh, there's plenty," Sirius clarified. "Raw and powerful magic. For battle, for protection, for a show of strength … But not much when it comes to frivolous luxuries such as wide-open space within a tent."

"Frivolous luxuries?" Hermione asked, having never considered such simplicities as an actual floor beneath one's feet or the ability to walk about an area without the need to duck one's head either frivolous or a luxury.

"To them, yes," Sirius confirmed. "Look about you, Hermione. You're a long way from London."

Hermione drew back the canvas to the tent's entrance just enough to peek through and glance about raucous area.

"I agree," she whispered under her breath.

As Hermione came to terms with the sudden realization as to just how far she was from home, George pulled up a short stool, sat down, and dug through a small satchel he had strung over his shoulder.

"Are you going to be able to do it?" Draco asked as George removed a small device that resembled an ice pick, its handle adorned with a thin silver ring encrusted with several black gems, its pommel topped with small clear crystal.

"Does a gobsmacker burp marsh gas?" George asked jovially in return.

"I will assume that is a yes," Draco drawled with a roll of his eyes.

"Damn right it's a yes," George said. "Now who's first?"

"For?" Harry asked, eyeing the sharp and mildly threatening tool in George's possession.

"Removing the beacon from your stones, of course," George answered as if it should have been common knowledge. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"About what?" Harry asked. "The beacon or you?"

George sat up straight and placed his hands out in submission. "Hey look," he started to explain. "I only just got here myself. Draco comes by, wakes me up at the crack dawn of the day, says he needs my expertise in removing some location spells."

"You have an expertise in removing location spells?" Hermione asked.

"Removing, scrambling, reworking, you name it," George answered proudly. "One of my very many surprising talents. But believe me," he went on, "I was just as shocked as you when Sirius came popping along all alive and such. Assuming you were shocked, of course," he quickly clarified. "Don't know how you wouldn't be."

"You don't appear particularly surprised about any of this," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh, I can assure you," Sirius said, "he went as white as a ghost and all but fainted."

"It certainly doesn't show now," Hermione said.

"Well, I knew about all this," George explained rather causally with a glance about the tent. "This one here was the shocker," he went on, thumbing back at Sirius.

"Wait, you knew?" Hermione asked in absurd shock.

"I mean, yeah," George answered simply. "Dad worked for the Ministry and all, so I would hear an occasional tale of Voldavian this and that. He always told 'em like they were fairy tales for little nippers, but me and Fred always had a notion there were slivers of truth mashed up in there."

"Your father knew about Voldavia?" Hermione asked on.

"I don't think he was meant to," George said pondering. "But you know Dad, he's always been too curious for his own good, asking too many questions. Probably why he was stuck down in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office his whole career."

"Your father loved Muggle culture," Hermione defended.

"Still does," George agreed with a smile. "Good he's always been so curious then, eh?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "Not to be insensitive to the moment," he began apologetically, "but you did say that time was limited, did you not, George?"

"That I did," George concurred as he redirected his attention to the odd device in his hand. He then approached. "You're going to want to hold still," he said as he pierced the grey clay surrounding Harry's Melding Stone with the sharpened end of his device.

At once, the black gems began to glow a deep radiant purple and the crystal atop the end slowly changed from clear to crimson red, matching that of Harry's stone. George them removed the device and the now dried up clay crumbled away from Harry lapel pin.

George then removed the red crystal from the end of his device and placed it in a small leather pouch he removed from his pocket.

"Now you," he continued with a nod to Hermione.

Hermione walked up to George.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to Hermione's necklace.

Hermione tilted her head back and took a deep breath, grateful for George's manners in lieu of Draco's heavy-handed approach earlier. George then repeated the process he had just completed with Harry. This time, the crystal atop the odd tool transitioned from clear to a shimmering emerald green. Hermione felt the bits of clay crumble and fall from her necklace as George removed the green crystal from his device and placed it in the same leather pouch that contained the crystal created from Harry's Melding Stone.

After securing the pouch with a silk string, George removed his wand and gave it a quick flick. Then, for lack of any better description Hermione could conjure, the pouch swallowed itself twice over and vanished.

"What did you just do?" Hermione asked.

"I just sent you two off somewhere," George explained proudly.

"Come again?" Harry asked.

"Well, not _you two_ you two," George clarified. "Just your copies. See this?" he went on, waving his odd device back and forth. "This handy little invention of mine nixed those little beacon charms on your Melting Stones—"

" _Melding_ Stones," Draco corrected.

"Close enough," George argued. "And at the same time, it created a duplicate _Melding Stone_ ," he went on, making certain to enunciate the proper terms to an almost obnoxious level, "set with a matching beacon."

"And where are they now?" Hermione asked on.

"Anywhere the two of you are not," George answered to blank stares of unknowing from Harry and Hermione. "In addition to the beacons, each crystal is fixed with a Binding Charm," he continued after a moment of awkward silence. "And the pouch has a Repellant Charm that bounces it contents from its binding source."

Although right on the cusp of logically sound, George's explanation still lacked that certain sort of simplification that any quality explanation would require in order for its meaning to be absorbed. And as such, Hermione offered little more than a cock of her head as she bit her lip in contemplation.

"Oh, bloody hell," Draco drawled. "Whatever your location once you pass through the Veil, the crystals carrying your beacons will be elsewhere. You move, they move. Never in the same place at the same time. Clear enough?"

Regardless of the curtness in tone, this explanation actually summed it up rather well. And although Hermione could not begin to comprehend the amount of complicated magic involved to interweave such a series of charms, she was thoroughly impressed.

"So now what?" Harry asked as Geroge organized his belonging and closed his satchel.

"Now we can relax," Sirius answered with a smile. "Have you eaten?"

"I have not," Harry answered with a laugh.

Harry's response could not have mirrored Hermione's feelings any better. While her growing hunger pangs were subtly reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, the idea that they should all just relax and have a bite to eat seemed almost comical.

"Come," Sirius offered with a wave of his hand. "I can show you around. It is quite magnificent."

"He's not lying," George said. "And the food isn't all that bad either."

"Draco?" Sirius went on with a glance towards their Slytherin counterpart.

"No, you all can run along," Draco said. "I'm going to find Jacques. Don't suppose you have any idea where he might be?

"Cobblestone, I imagine," Sirius answered.

Without little more than a nod of departure, Draco left the tent and disappeared into the crowds beyond. Hermione looked out through the opening, feeling a sudden sense of wonder she had not experienced in so long she could scarcely remember the sensation.

"Crazy, right?" George said as he came up from behind and glanced out over Hermione's shoulder.

"Something like that," Hermione said in return.

"C'mon then," George prodded with a nudge to Hermione's shoulder. "Let's have a look, yeah?"

"I don't know," Hermione said with a sudden overwhelming sense of self-consciousness.

"What, you want to wallow about in this glorified closet?" George asked.

Hermione looked to Harry, but he seemed quite preoccupied with Sirius at the moment. Not that she could blame him. Even so, he still offered a nod of approval whilst he continued his conversation with his godfather unabated.

"See?" George said to Hermione. "Off we go then."

Moments later, the two outsiders in a strange new world were walking amongst those who dwelled within, taking in the sights, the sounds, the aromas that surrounded them and enveloped their senses.

Most of the individuals about Hermione were not all that out of the ordinary to her. The mountain trolls, for instance, were familiar. Albeit she had never seen one that was not attempting to take her head off with massive swing of its thorny club. The centaurs were also quite familiar, as were the number of humans, male and female, who populated the area. The goblins and elves, while seemingly out of place, were nothing new. There were a variety of dogs running about. Not any breed Hermione had known and larger than most dogs she had encountered previously, Fang included, but clearly some form of canine.

Then, there were the things less familiar. The small fairly-like creatures that flitted through the air and, most noticeably, the broad and surly fanged creatures who beat their chests and shouted at the sky as they watched some of the more barbaric competitions throughout the faire.

"Orcs," George explained as they walked along.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione asked.

"The nasty looking ones," George clarified. "They're orcs."

It was clear that George had noticed her stare. "Oh," she said. "I've never seen one outside of a textbook. I wasn't certain they were real."

"Apparently, they don't traverse that Veil thingy," George explained. "Why you likely never seen one. But they're real all right. And a lot of them too. Those reddish ones are from the plains tribes," he went on with a gesture to a group of orcs whose skin looked as though it had been burnt under generations of blistering sun. "And those earthy looking ones," he explained, nodding towards another group with skin of varying shades of browns and greens, "they're from the woodlands. That blueish looking fellas are from the riverlands," he concluded as they passed by a third gathering of unique looking orcs.

"So different," Hermione said as she glanced between the varying tribes, "but so much the same."

"These ones, yeah," George said. "There's another race of orcs though; from the mountains. They're not so pretty, I hear."

"Hear from who?" Hermione asked with a laugh.

"Sirius," George answered. "Gave me the old tour before you and Harry arrived. Already got my brain all a twist in how I can expand my business here. Untapped market and all."

"You're not serious?" Hermione asked, although she was almost certain he was.

"Think about it," George mused aloud. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes breeches the Veil. Can't beat that kind of press."

"Except you can't mention it," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," George admitted, kicking at the ground as they walked. "Didn't have to go and kill off my dreams straight away like that though. Could've let me have a minute or so to swim about in my fantasy."

"My apologies," Hermione said with another laugh before changing the subject. "I still can't believe how well you're taking all of this."

"Why?" George asked. "How are you taking it?"

"Not as well as you," Hermione answered. "I mean, look around."

George did so, almost as though he was playing along versus taking a serious inventory of his surroundings.

"Yeah, so there are a few additions to our little menagerie of magical madness," he said simply. "But a lot of it is pretty familiar when you think about it."

"Right," Hermione agreed partly. "Except that the things I recognize are not trying to kill each other … Or us. Sort of sets this world apart from our own rather significantly, don't you think?"

"Oh, they would be," George pointed out. "I mean some of them would, at least," he quickly clarified. "Can remember which ones Sirius mentioned, but a lot of these clans or tribes or whatevers aren't particularly fond of each other at all. Just can't partake in that sort of nonsense here."

"Oh really?" Hermione asked with doubt. "And what stops them?"

"Jacques," George answered.

"Jacques?"

"So says Sirius," George said. "Really powerful wizard or something, but abhors violence. This Outland Circumbendibus is his place. Set it up for anyone and everyone who wants to come out and enjoy good food, good music, and quality live entertainment," he went on with a wild gesture all around them.

"And if people don't follow the rules?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," George answered honestly. "I guess people really don't want to cross Jacques though, because it seems to be peaceful enough here."

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed reluctantly. "Just seems oddly bizarre is all. I guess I'm not quite accustomed to those at odds with each other getting on."

"You mean like Harry and Draco?" George asked with a grin.

"I'm still not certain if they're getting on or not," Hermione returned with a grin of her own.

At that moment, a massive shadow streaked across the grounds. Hermione looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun, and saw the outline of an enormous black dragon soaring through the skies with what appeared to be an individual riding atop its shoulders.

"And I suppose dragons are little more than friendly house pets here," Hermione mused with a glance towards George.

George, however, did not appear to share in Hermione's casual approach.

"Um … I don't think so …" he admitted as he watched the beast come around and head back in their direction. "I think this might be bad."

No sooner had his words escaped his lips than the dragon unleashed a torrent of flames upon the Circumbendibus, immediately engulfing the dried grass and roof tops in the area. Hermione and George both drew their wands and began attending to the flames as patrons ran about, some looking for shelter, some taking aim at the dragon as it streaked through the air for a second run.

Ducking behind a stack of barrels, Hermione was able to avoid the second stream of flames that ate away at every and any combustible element in its path. During this pass, however, she noticed the dragon's shoulders were bare. Before she could process its significance, she found her wand wrenched from her hand, sailing off in an unknown direction. As she spun around in confusion, she saw George entangled in slithering vines and roots that had sprung from the ground beneath his feet, twisting and binding themselves around his legs and torso.

"George!" she shouted as she ran over and began pulling at his ensnarement.

"Hermione, no!" George shouted in return. "Get away!"

But it was too late. More vines sprung up beneath Hermione and bound her legs together. As she pulled and tore at them, they only seemed to accelerate in growth. Soon, her arms were pinned to her side and she lost her balance, crashing into the dry and unforgiving soil.

At that moment, she felt an object in her pocket … round … solid … Altimus' coin!

 _Come on_ , she thought while her fingers strained to find the opening atop her pocket as the vines and firm branches tightened around her. _Come on_ …

Finally, her hand slipped through and she grasped the silver Sickle.

"Killi—" she tried to call out, but her voice was silenced as her bindings continued to coil around her, covering her mouth and nose.

Worse still, she had less than half a breath in her lungs before her air was cut off, suffocating her with a burning fire in her chest. Desperately struggling to inhale through vines and leaves as thick as leather, she watched as George was slowly dragged beneath the ground, bound and helpless. Overwhelming panic began to set it as Hermione felt the violent pull of her own bindings as they began to draw her into the soil as well, the pressure of the dirt compressing her legs further. Her chest burned for air and her muscles screamed for space as she continued her descent. The sounds of fiery explosions and shouting became slowly began to fade, becoming muffled and faint, a tingling sensation emerging in her fingers and toes as her body starved for a breath, her vision alternating between a wavering blur to blacked shadowy edges.

In one final agonizing moment of panic and horror, Hermione's pain faded away and the world fell silent and dark as her life slipped into oblivion.


	16. Chapter 16 - Complicated Simplicity

_So this ended up being another rather short chapter. My intention was to have it split into two section, this being the first part, followed by what occurred immediately after. But then I decided that adding the second part of this in the same chapter would kind of take away from what happens here, soooo ... Yeah, pretty short chapter. I hate posting really short chapters.  
_

 _But I digress ... Enjoy ... the, um, really short chapter._

 _\- Chapter Sixteen -_

 _Complicated Simplicity_

Hermione's pillow cradled her face as she lay cozy and warm in her bed. Arising from a gentle slumber she resisted the urge to open her eyes, instead enjoying the pressure of the heavy layers of soft blankets above her as she sunk deep into the embrace of her mattress below. She was exactly where she wanted to be, surrounded by a nothing more than the relaxing peace of silence. Every ounce of her being wished she could remain there forever.

Sadly, her serenity was interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door.

 _Go away_ , she thought, convincing herself that merely keeping her eyes closed would somehow yield some form of compliance with her unspoken request.

However, the gentle knock of a delicate hand persisted

 _Please go away_ , Hermione thought on, begging for only a few minutes more.

Again, the knocks sounded, this time accompanied by the soft voice of a child.

"Mum? … Are you in there?"

Hermione's eyes burst open as she sat up, her heart in her throat. Looking around she saw that she was not in her own bed, but rather another bedroom entirely; a room of silk and silver, with fine furnishings, tapestries, and draperies.

"Mummy, may I come in?" the voice continued.

As her eyes danced about the room in a vain attempt to organize some sense of logic and sanity, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes …" she finally answered. "Yes, of course."

The door opened with a creak and a young girl of about six years of age wearing a flowery nightdress entered quickly, closing the door behind her before darting across the room and leaping into bed aside Hermione. She was adorably beautiful with bright green eyes, fine black hair, and a whimsical smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked the girl who had now snuggled beneath the blankets.

"I don't like it out there," the girl explained, nuzzling under Hermione's arm and wrapping it around herself firmly. "When is Daddy coming back?"

"Daddy?" Hermione echoed, finding the term both uncomfortably foreign and strangely familiar as it fell from her tongue. "I … Um … I don't know, luv. Perhaps he's downstairs. Would you like to go look for him?"

"No," the girl said immediately, pressing herself closer to Hermione. "I want to stay here."

"Well we can't stay in bed all day, silly," Hermione said with smile as she hugged the stranger aside her, her every word feeling oddly out of place, yet frighteningly natural. "Come along," she went on, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. "Let's find Daddy."

"Don't go," the girl pled as she gripped Hermione's hand firmly.

As she did there was a loud bang on the bedroom door that shook the walls around it. Several more followed, as if large objects were being thrown against the wooden frame with extraordinary force. Hermione immediately leapt from the bed, prying her hand away from the desperate child who looked upon her with watering eyes.

"No, Mummy," the girl begged.

"It's all right, sweetie," Hermione said in as calm a voice as she could summon. "I'm just going to check the door. You stay right there."

Hermione drew her wand and slowly stepped towards the bedroom door as another loud crash vibrated through the area. As she approached, smoke began to seep in beneath the door along with some form of a grimy residue. Dragging her bare foot along the floorboards, she realized it was fine granules of dirt, and a good deal of it, blowing through the thin opening under the door and spreading thinly across the floor.

"What is it?" the girl asked, her voice trembling and fearful as she crawled towards the foot of the bed.

"Stay back!" Hermione said, her tone awash with a wavering firmness as a growing fear began to swell from within her. "I need you to stay where you are, all right? Can you do that?"

The girl offered little more than a feeble nod as she wrapped the covers around her head and body with only her bright green eyes and button nose peeking through.

Hermione then returned her attention to the door. With her wand at the ready, she stepped back and gave it a quick flick. The door swung open with a violent rush of boiling air, swirling dirt, and stinging ash. Through the doorway, Hermione saw individuals running about; men, women, centaurs, trolls, goblins, and strange beastly creatures of whom she was entirely unfamiliar. Some were attempting to put out the blazes that were ravaging the spacious interior of the household while others were firing arrows and jinxes through the ceiling as an unseen force erupted with torrents of winds and flames.

"Mummy!" the young girl cried out, her voice stricken with panicked horror.

Turning back, Hermione saw strange bindings sprouting from the bed and wrapping themselves around the girl's tiny frame. As she raised her wand to strike, it was wrenched from her hand, spinning off through the open doorway and into the consuming flames beyond.

Unarmed and with no time to think, Hermione rushed to the bedside, the little girl's grasping hands falling from Hermione's grip and disappearing under a sea of blankets. Hermione frantically tore the bedding away as gasped as she saw that not only had the girl vanished entirely, but beneath the sheets lay a large muddy patch of earthen soil.

Before another thought could pass, the same bindings that has ensnared the little girl reached from the dirt and grasped Hermione by the wrists. Struggle as she may, their grip only increased as they slithered around her, pinning her arms to her sides and dragging her down beneath the surface.

 _This can't be real!_ Hermione thought desperately. _This is a dream! Someone wake me! Please, someone wake me!_

Her eyes stung and her chest exploded with agonizing pain as she found herself consumed by the enveloping darkness. Another thunderous bang erupted all around her and her body fell limp. The pain was now overwhelming and she could do nothing to stave it off for even a moment longer. She needed to move, she needed to cry out, she needed to—

"Breathe, damn you!" a voice called out.

With a gasp that burned her lungs nearly as much as it soothed them, Hermione's opened her eyes to blinding sunlight that slowly cleared into brilliant green eyes staring back at her as he cradled her in his arms whilst she still lay, filthy and saturated, upon the wet soil.

"Killian?" she cried without thinking, sitting up abruptly and wrapping her arms around him as if she were clinging to her very life.

With an almost awkward hesitation, Killian returned the embrace, slowly increasing with each passing moment. Whether the reciprocation was out of desire, pity, or some odd sense of duty, Hermione did not care. She needed to be held, to feel that comfort, to hear his gently whispered reassurance that she was going to be all right.

With her head still pressed into Killian's shoulder as she clutched his longcoat in her still trembling hands, Hermione saw Altimus and Wraith attending to George, who was coughing wretchedly as he spat out bits of dirt and grass. A few paces from there, Harry leaned up against a charred foundation wall as Sirius stabilized him by the arm whilst bantering back and forth about what had just occurred.

Hermione glanced about the area as best she could without removing her head from its place on Killian's shoulder. It was a futile search. Every part of her logical mind knew this to be true. Regardless, she continued, hoping against all reason to catch a glimpse of the little girl who never existed, the terrified child whom had called for her, the beautiful daughter she let slip through her fingers.

She was never real, never more than a fantasy. This recognition of sensibility and truth filled Hermione's heart with a pain that could not be quelled. To this end, she closed her eyes, absorbing the comfort of Killian's embrace, the only person who could possibly understand how she felt; convincing herself, if only for a moment, that their complicated simplicity had returned, that they somehow remained who they were before and not who they had become.

 _Just another fantasy_ , she thought, clutching Killian firmer still.


	17. Chapter 17 - Portraits & Interpretations

_I swear I did not abandon the story. I just could not get to it to save my life for like ... well, however long it has been since I last posted. No wild adventures or fabulous excuses, I simply could not find a moment of free time. It was frustrating, but hopefully not going to be a constant issue moving forward. I will say that I had to go back to earlier chapters in this story and previous stories to make sure I covered certain things, and wow, I really am horrible at editing. So many little errors, grammar and word usage. Ugh!  
_

 _Alas, another chapter is finally posted. Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Seventeen -_

 _Portraits and Interpretations_

"Can you stand?" Killian asked.

"I …" Hermione began, consciously stalling as she slowly regained her strength with every soothing breath. "Yes," she finally answered. "I think so."

With arm behind Hermione's back and the other beneath her arm, Killian carefully guided her upright. Just as she closed her eyes to stave off a sudden bout of disequilibrium, however, Hermione felt his hands release her and he darted away. Upon opening her eyes, she saw Liam Buckley and the young women whom had been present at the Veil earlier, the former pressed to the foundation wall with Killian's staff to his throat.

"Explain this," Killian growled at Liam through gritted teeth as the prim and proper wizard held his hands out in submission, his expression rather casual all things considered.

"Killian, I can assure you—" he began to explain before Killian moved in closer, his forearm pressed to Liam's chest.

"That you have no idea, I imagine," Killian concluded with dismissive spite. "Do not play me for a fool."

"Killian," the young woman aside Liam spoke up, grasping the agitated Slytherin by the arm.

As she did, a bolt of white light struck her in the shoulder.

"Hands off, missy," came Wraith's voice as she drew her bow back a second time.

Looking both aghast and insulted, the young woman directed her wand at Wraith, only to have Liam interject with a calm sternness.

"Lower your wand, Bailey," he said, his eyes unwavering. "Calmer heads prevail. Is that not correct, Killian?"

His tense and glowering expression still in place, Killian relinquished his grip on Liam. Albeit it was not without hesitation.

As he stepped back, Liam straightened the collar of his overcoat and adjusted his sleeves.

"You're Bailey?" Hermione asked.

"You know her?" Harry asked, still wobbly on his feet and being braced by Sirius.

"Of her," Hermione clarified as the memory of Professor Dumbledore's casual mention of Bailey the night she and Luna were nearly taken from Hogwarts over the possession of a restricted book flittered through her mind.

"My eldest, Bailey," Liam offered as a formal introduction.

"She's your daughter?" Harry asked on, seemingly more surprised by this revelation than the idea that Hermione was somehow familiar with the young sorceress.

"Indeed," Liam concurred. "And now that we are all familiar, I believe it best we remain collected."

"Collected?" Sirius scoffed. "The Circumbendibus, of all places, is attacked only moments after they arrive," he went on with a gesture to Harry and Hermione, "and your response is that we all simply take a deep breath?"

"We do not know the reason behind—" Liam began before Sirius spoke up again.

"Do not know the reason?" Sirius shouted. "They were put in the ground; specifically targeted."

"How do you mean?" Liam asked.

"Look around you, Liam," Sirius went on. "Do you see anyone else being dug from the dirt? This was deliberate and exact. Someone knew they would be here."

"Tiberius?" Harry offered as he shook several large clumps of dirt and clay from his clothing.

"I'd put a bag of Galleons on it," Sirius said emphatically.

"Even if Tiberius were aware of their passage through the Veil," Liam explained, "how could he have possibly known they would come here?"

"That's a very good question, Liam," Sirius said with a near, albeit not quite, accusing tone.

"Well they weren't tracked," George spoke up, picking bits of grass from his teeth. "The putty was intact when they got here and I removed the Tracer Charms on their stones right quick."

A thought then occurred to Hermione, who was already growing tired of being spoken of as if she were not present.

"How did _you_ know where we would be?" she asked of Liam, doing a far inferior job of hiding her accusation.

"Whom did you think arranged for you to meet here?" Liam asked.

"Draco and Sirius," Harry answered, although it appeared more a question than a statement of certainty.

"Well …" Sirius began, his face twisting as he bit his lip "… that's not entirely accurate."

"Are you telling me you're working with this … this …" Harry bumbled at his godfather, losing his words in a mash of stuttered sounds.

"Conclave," Liam finished for him. "And no, that is not entirely accurate either."

"And what is accurate?" Hermione pressed.

Before any further inquiry could be satisfied, Draco, covered in dirt, appeared alongside a man dressed in fancy silks adorned with beads and thin silver chains. He wore jewels on his fingers and ears and his smooth but aged face was traced by a thin line of a neatly trimmed facial hair that ran along his upper lip, chin, and jawline.

"Of course," the man grumbled, placing his hands on his hips in disgust. "Absolutely of course. A dragon pops from the sky to incinerate my Circumbendibus, why should I be surprised to find you three at the source of it?"

Hermione followed the man's line of sight and realized he was starring daggers at Killian.

"Hey, we only just got here," Altimus defended. "Got summoned."

"Summoned?" the man scoffed. "I'm to believe that?"

"Honest," Altimus defended further, placing his hand over his heart. "I mean, technically Killi was summoned, but yeah," he quickly clarified, thumbing towards Killian.

"Killi?" the man asked quizzically.

"That's what we heard," Altimus answered. "Figured she meant Killian, so … Here we are."

"She?" the man asked on, glancing about the group. "She who?"

"Me," Hermione answered anyway.

The man cocked his head, crinkled his nose, and ran a deliberate finger across his thin mustache as he strode towards Hermione. Pausing as he gave her a quick once over, he then leaned in.

"Killi … Is that some sort of pet name?" he whispered with a grin. "Adorable."

"Er … No," Hermione whispered back uncomfortably. "I was more or less suffocating at the time."

"Oh," the man said, pursing his lips. "Well, not quite as adorable then. But still …" He then twirled away and approached Killian. "Summoned or not, you're a veritable plethora of trouble everywhere you set foot and I simply will not have it," he chastised, waving his index finger in Killian's very unamused face. He then laughed and placed his hand on Killian's chest. "Oh, _Killi_ ," he teased. "Try as I may, I simply cannot be angry with you." He then looked to Hermione with a roll of his eyes. "So dark and brooding, this one. Have a drink, am I right?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Harry asked.

"Oh, forgive my manners," the man said, waving his hand and placing it to his forehead. "Jacque Forains," he offered with a bow. "Singer, dancer, sorcerer extraordinaire, founder and owner of the Outland Circumbendibus."

"This is all yours?" George asked. "Grand place. You know, when it's not decorated in wild fires and screaming patrons."

"Yes, yes," Jacques acknowledged. "It a bit of a mess at the moment. And I'm eagerly waiting for an explanation as to why."

"We were hoping you might have an idea," Liam said.

Jacques glanced between Liam and Bailey with a raised eyebrow.

"Is it Daddy Daughter Day at the Conclave already?" he said, after which Bailey offered a sneer in return. "So family friendly, it warms the heart. And no, I haven't the foggiest. One moment I'm having a wonderful conversation with Mr. Malfoy, the next he's wrapped in boa vines and being dragged to an early grave."

Harry looked towards Draco and said something under his breath. Although Hermione could not hear him, she could deduce by Draco's reaction that Harry was asking after his well-being, a reality of which she still had not entirely grown used accustomed.

"Perhaps a rival?" Liam offered, regaining Hermione's attention.

"A rival? Me?" Jacques asked with a laugh. "I have no rivals. I'm far too fabulous. And I am also not so naïve as to believe that you are entirely unaware as to whom the actual culprit, or culprits, may be." Again, he glanced amongst the group, pointing at George, Hermione, Harry, and Draco as he counted aloud. "One, two, three, and four … All here for the first time, all here together, and the only ones who fell victim to the boa vines, am I correct? Just a coincidence, I suppose?"

"I still believe Tiberius Mordim had a hand in this," Harry said.

"Look at you, all bold as brass," Jacques said, although Hermione could not quite say whether this was meant as a compliment. "Although I would not expect less from the Boy Who Lived," he went on, approaching Harry and sliding his hair aside with his wand to reveal Harry's infamous scar. "Oh yes, I know who you are, Mr. Potter, vanquisher of the Outcast's most notorious apprentice. Your exploits are legendary, even here. Albeit I have no doubt they are greatly exaggerated, as all legendary tales tend to be," he quickly clarified with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I'm sorry …" Hermione spoke up "… vanquisher of who?"

"Darling if you are going to walk amongst us, you simply must learn our lore," Jacques answered, tisking as he rolled his eyes to the sky.

Hermione looked to Harry for any form of clarity, but received little more than a shrug and a puzzled look that, no doubt, resembled her own.

"Alas, Mr. Potter," Jacques went on, "I am afraid your accusation falls along the lines of the extraordinary unlikely. Tiberius is a pup; a nippy little follower looking for a wing to hide under. Not the sort that could convince a Cyndalian Spinetail to offer its shoulders for a ride-along."

"If not Tiberius, then who?" Sirius asked.

"No one comes to mind?" Jacques asked of Liam, who offered nothing in response. "Alas," he went on with theatric dejection, "I suppose only the Weaver knows for certain."

Another query for clarification was on the tip of Hermione's tongue, but she managed to banish it away. She already felt foolish and unknowing in this strange new world and did not wish to extenuate it any further.

"Well, come along," Jacques continued as he turned with a whirl and began away. "There is much to discuss." He paused for a moment alongside a small fire that burned alongside one of the damaged buildings, dousing it with a surge of water from his wand. "More than ever, as it appears."

. . .

The oddly extravagant sorcerer led the group to Cobblestone Castle, in the rough center of the Outland Circumbendibus. Now little more than a ruin of toppled ramparts, eroded walls, and a vast overgrowth of various botanicals, it was clear that, in its day, the structure was something to behold. Even in its current state of ornament for the Circumbendibus, the foyer and main hall, now home to rows of peddlers in makeshift shops of wood and clay, were breathtaking.

On the second floor, in a grand room that was more intact than most other areas of the castle, the group sat and discussed what had occurred. In an unusual turn, Hermione found herself completely unable to engage with the conversation. It became little more than garbled background noise as she sat in an ornately carved, albeit a bit undersized and uncomfortable, chair as Harry, Draco, Sirius, Liam, and Jacques bantered on.

Bailey, as it appeared, seemed more interested in maintaining company with the Triad, whom, like Hermione, did not seem particularly interested in what was being discussed. George, on the other hand, found himself between conversations; picking up on a few things from one group, then wandering off towards the other, almost as if he was not certain exactly where he should be and had finally decided it best to straddle the area.

Hermione, however, knew exactly where she should be. Or wanted to be. Or something. With whatever it was she had just experienced, just being in the room with Killian filled her with such a sense of needing to be closer whilst simultaneously knowing she should be running as far away possible.

"With Lord Akuma already having procured the Spiorad Druma, it is only a matter of time before the Eye of Infinitio is in his possession, as well," Sirius remarked as a matter of fact.

"The Eye is lost," Liam insisted.

"As was the Druma," Sirius argued. "And we've seen how that's played out, haven't we?"

"To be fair," Jacques interjected, "The Spiorad Duma was more of a lack of efficient documentation regarding its historical exchanging of hands and the like. Less lost than misplaced. The Eye of Infinitio, on the other hand, is an entirely different beast altogether. Try as I may, my location spells have been unable to detect even the faintest hint of its presence either in this world or beyond the Veil."

"It must be somewhere," Sirius insisted. "Things do not simply vanish from reality."

"Nor have I claimed that they do," Jacques clarified. "I simply stated that I cannot locate it. And as such I cannot begin to tell you where to look. Whatever magic barrier secures the Eye's resting place, it appears to have cloaked it beyond my reach. If I dare say, beyond existence."

"No barrier is that powerful," Liam said with doubt.

"Clearly that is untrue," Jacques agreed. "That being said, here we are. And it is quite worth noting that if I have failed in this endeavor, I shudder to think of your odds of success."

"Dumbledore would have known what to do," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"Or Snape," Draco added.

"You're unwavering loyalties are heartwarming," Jacques said. "But at the risk of sounding callous, Albus and Severus are both very much deceased. And as such, they have little to offer in the area of guidance."

"Well yeah, _they_ are," George pointed out before either Harry or Draco could respond, though both looked entirely ready to do so. "But their portraits aren't."

All eyes fell upon George, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face indicating he was feeling quite proud of his input.

"I'm sorry," Jacques said with a raised eyebrow. "Their portraits?"

"Yeah," George confirmed. "Nobody thought to ask them?"

"Ask their portraits?" Jacques asked on, as equally perplexed as before.

"It's a magic developed beyond the Veil," Liam explained. "However, I'm not certain it would—"

"Hold on a moment," Sirius interjected. "George may be on to something."

"As simple a solution as it may seem," Draco disagreed, "portraits essentially banter on with quotes and comments based on the generalized characterizations of their subjects.

"Conversations with portraits …" Jacques mused aloud. "What a fascinating world."

"Fascinating or not," Liam said, "Draco is correct. The subjects, as in all portraits, are mere representations of individuals. And representations based on the interpretations of the artist, at that. So any accuracy in what they say would be dubious at best."

Hermione pondered the idea for a moment as the Liam, Sirius, Draco, Harry, and Jacques grumbled on about what other choices yet remain. She then popped up with a sudden realization.

"Not necessarily," she offered.

"Not necessarily what?" Harry asked, as the conversation had progressed and Hermione's comment seemed entirely out of place.

"Sirius is right," Hermione clarified. "George may be on to something regarding the portraits."

"Hermione, you know as well as anyone that portraits are—"

"Interpretations of the artists, yes," Hermione agreed. "And they can be less than accurate portrayals at times, particularly when painted after the subjects death. However, Hogwarts' past Headmasters' portraits are commissioned prior to their passing. Furthermore, they are in the Headmaster's possession for a significant amount of time before they retire from their position."

"And you think these Headmasters would have altered their portraits?" Liam asked.

"They would certainly have had ample opportunity to do so," Sirius pondered aloud.

"And it would explain why current Headmasters converse with them for guidance," Harry added.

"You honestly believe it's as simple talking to swirls of paint slapped on canvas?" Draco asked with doubt.

"Can you honestly say it isn't?" Hermione asked in return.

"Unless anyone else has a suggestion," Harry offered when it was clear that Draco was not going to answer Hermione's counter-query, "I say this is worth a go. And we haven't been back to Hogwarts in far too long."

"Not long enough," Draco mumbled under his breath.

At that moment, Hermione caught a glimpse of Killian. She thought for a moment he may have been casting a glance in her direction as well. If so, it was far too subtle to be certain. Regardless, Hermione quickly turned away. Harry and Draco were both right. It had been far too long since she had walked the halls of Hogwarts. Yet at the same time, it was nowhere near long enough.

. . .

After returning through the Veil and parting ways with Harry and Draco, George escorted Hermione home. Even though it amounted to little more than a quick Apparation, it was kind just the same. Hide it as he may, behind the façade, George was a true and proper gentleman.

"Well, here we are," George said as the arrived at the door. "Bit of a day wasn't it?"

"A bit, yes," Hermione agreed.

"And this is like common workplace occurrences with you?" George asked.

"Not to this extent, I can assure you," Hermione answered with a laugh, covering the complete lack of certainty in her reply. Particularly of late. "Thank you for seeing me home," she went on. "But you should probably be going before Angelina has your head."

"And she will, at that," George said with a grin. He then turned as if to leave, stopped, and readdressed Hermione. "So …" he began with a hesitant awkwardness. "Did you see anything?" he asked.

"See anything?" Hermione asked.

"You know …" George hesitated again before continuing. "When you were in the ground. Near death experience and all."

The images of the young girl with dark hair and brilliant green eyes flashed through Hermione's mind, along with the desperate horrors that followed.

"No," she lied. "Just darkness. Did you?"

"Nah," George admitted with a shrug as he casually kicked at a few stones near his feet. "Figures Fred would make me wait for the real thing. Would have been brilliant though, wouldn't it? Just to see him again. Even for a second."

A somber air fell about them. It had been so many years since Fred's death and Hermione still could not even pretend to understand the pain George suffers from a simple glance in the mirror. Without a word, she stepped forward and offered a comforting embrace before kissing George softly on the cheek.

"Off with you now," Hermione said with a smile. "Or Angelina will be at my door."

"Right," George said with a shrugging nod, still as uncomfortable with such emotionally sensitive situations as he had been in his youth. "Tell Ron I said hey, yeah."

"I will," Hermione assured as George Disapparated with a pop.

Pausing and taking a deep breath, Hermione finally opened her door and entered the quiet house. She was surprised to find Ron sitting on the sofa across from the hearth, glancing at an unfolded piece of parchment. Startled and surprised to be more precise.

"Late night?" he asked without looking up as he refolded the parchment and placing it in his pocket.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "What were you reading?"

Ron stood and turned to Hermione, scratching at his ear. "Nothing," he said. "Just an invoice."

"Busy day?" Hermione asked on, finding it oddly difficult to engage in simple small talk at the moment.

"Yeah sure," Ron answered. "Not as busy as yours, I imagine though. Anything exciting?"

Hermione's heart sank. "Ron …" she began, her eyes falling to the floor. "You know I can't—"

"Can't talk to me about the goings on in your department," Ron said sullenly. "Yeah, I know. You got Harry and Draco for that."

"Please don't do this," Hermione started, but had no real follow through in mind.

"No, I get it," Ron went on. "Outside looking in, now that I've been tossed and all."

"You weren't tossed," Hermione argued. "You quit."

"Like I had a choice in it, right?" Ron came back in a raised voice.

"It was entirely your choice," Hermione argued further, her tone and volume matching Ron's. "No one made you do anything. No one ever could."

"Oh, there it is. That's right on point, isn't it?" Ron fired back, his arms aggressively flailing with his every word. "You think I couldn't see what was going on? Couldn't hear what people were saying? The _perfect_ Hermione Granger, look how amazing she is. Who's her man again? Ron Weasley? Well that git's a bit off, isn't he? He'll never live up to that standard."

"Ron …" Hermione tried to interject as Ron's rant continued without pause.

"Like such a thing is even attainable," he went on. "You take off to the stars while I just trail behind in your shadow."

"That's not fair," Hermione defended, although the determination in her voice had faltered.

Ron did not immediately respond, glancing back and forth between the fires within the hearth and Hermione. Hermione simply had nothing left to say. It had all been said before, seemingly in an endless loop of defending and explaining herself for things she in which she had no part outside of her pure existence within the environment. On this night, she had neither the strength nor the desire to rehash it once again.

"Well, that's life then, isn't it," Ron finally said. "Not meant to be fair."

Without another word, he left the room and thumped up the stairs. A resounding slam followed as he closed the bedroom door with a purpose, leaving Hermione alone aside the sofa, staring at the floor and wondering how everything had gotten to this point.

Falling onto the sofa, Hermione's foot hit something solid beneath. Reaching under, she grabbed hold of the books she had procured from the library within the ruins of Killian's family estate. Knowing full well she would not be following Ron any time soon, she opened _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ and began to skim through the various stories chronicled within; stories of heroism and adventure, tragedy and sorrow.

After a dispirited glance up the darkened staircase, Hermione lost herself in the literature that lay before her, surrounded by little more than somber silence.


	18. Chapter 18 - Furtive Travelers

_Another post, this one being a bit longer. Happy Thursday! Or Happy Friday I suppose, depending on your particular point in space on this big blue and green marble._

 _Alas, I am quite exhausted, so I am off to sleep. Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Eighteen -_

 _Furtive Travelers_

Crisp and resounding knocks awoke Hermione from her restless slumber. Too dazed and exhausted to see who would be haunting her doorstep so early in the morning, Hermione placed her hands over her weary eyes and groaned.

"If it's a parcel, please leave at the door," she called out.

Even the sound of the knob turning followed by the creak of the aged hinges did little to stir a reaction from Hermione.

"Hello?" came Harry's voice.

Now Hermione was quite awake, closing her Voldavian manuscript and attempting to look as presentable as possible. As she adjusted herself, Harry turned the corner from the foyer, peering around cautiously before catching sight of Hermione.

"There you are," he greeted with a warm smile.

"Oh, hey Harry" Hermione greeted in return.

"Is Ron about?" Harry asked with a glance around the area.

"Upstairs," Hermione answered with a vague gesture in that direction.

Harry turned and bound up the staircase, his footsteps traipsing down the hall towards the bedroom, shuffling about, and then returning.

"You sure about that?" Harry asked as he descended to the first floor.

Hermione glanced at the embers in the hearth, barely a crackle of the previous night's fire. It felt as though a solid weight had been suddenly set upon her abdomen, a sickening feeling that had become all too familiar in recent months.

"You know, he might have left already," Hermione offered as a plausible and innocent explanation for Ron's absence. "He had mentioned he needed to get an early start at the shop."

"Early start?" Harry said with a laugh. "Ron?"

Hermione could barely feign a moderate expression of amusement.

"What brings you here?" she asked, attempting to steer the conversation in any direction far removed from what was occurring within her home. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," Harry answered. "I've just come to fetch you. It's a long ride to Hogwarts."

"Ride?" Hermione asked, still groggier than she wished to appear.

"The Floo Network can be monitored, and even Apparating now appears less than entirely secure," Harry explained. "With what happened yesterday, Draco thought it best to be as inconspicuous as possible in our travels. I can't say I disagree. That being said, the Hogwarts Express is running a shipment of supplies for the upcoming term and Draco managed to book us anonymous passage."

"Since last night?" Hermione asked. "That was quick."

"Enough money and influence can buy you just about anything," Harry said, cocking his head with a shrug. He then paused, his grin falling away. "Hermione …" he went on, his tone now somewhat concerned. "You're still covered in dirt. Did you sleep down here?"

"I was reading," Hermione explained as Harry stepped closer.

"Reading?" he asked with doubt.

"Priorities and all that," Hermione said with as sincere a fake smile as she could muster, holding her copy of _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ up for Harry to see.

"What is that?" he asked, squinting to read the title.

"It's a book, Harry," Hermione answered with a smirk before pulling the tome away and standing abruptly. "I'm going to get cleaned up. Just give me a moment."

She then raced away and up the stairs, thankful that Harry did not call after her with any further concerns.

. . .

Within hours, Hermione was standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as the Hogwarts Express fumed, hissed, and banged in its stationary position. The trip had caught Hermione off guard. While she agreed with George's suggestion of speaking with the portraits of Hogwarts' former Headmasters, the idea that she would be returning to the school had not yet entirely been absorbed. This left her with no time to speak to Ron of her travels, nor that she would unlikely be returning that night. Because of this, she had little recourse but to hastily pen a letter and send it by owl to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in the hopes that Ron would understand. After what had occurred the previous night, however, such an outcome seemed unlikely at best.

The view at King's Cross was a bit surreal. The Hogwarts Express, gleaming with a fresh coat of red, was preparing to depart, like it had so many times when Hermione was a student awaiting passage. Standing on the platform, awaiting word that it was time to board brought back a wave of fond memories.

Of course, it was not exactly the same. In place of the hoards of students pushing their baggage along as they waved goodbye to their parents, there was an air of emptiness on the vacated platform. Instead of the excitement she felt at the start of a new term, Hermione felt the uneasiness of an uncertain future.

Draco stood by his parents, bidding goodbye to Astoria and Scorpius. Astoria looked near tears as she embraced her husband. To Hermione's surprise, Draco placed his hand on Astoria's cheek, looked her in the eyes, and whispered something gently to her. Hermione could not hear what was being said, but she could tell that his words were comforting to Astoria.

Harry tried to engage Hermione in passive conversation several times. Each time, it simply tapered off. It was too much to take in. Hermione was far too distracted as she looked around the empty platform to engage in any form of conversation worth merit.

At the edge of the platform, she then saw Killian.

"What is he doing here?" Hermione asked of Harry in a terse whisper.

"Hermione, it's all rig—" Harry tried to explain.

But it was far too late. Hermione stormed across the platform to confront the Slytherin standing in the solitude of the shadows.

"Have you gone mad?" she chastised aggressively. "If anyone were to see you, it would be—"

This time it was Hermione who was cut off as Draco approached, grasped her by the arm, and led her away from Killian.

"If you draw attention to him," he offered as a stern warning, "someone certainly will."

"Why is he here?" Hermione asked as she pulled herself free.

"Why do you care?" Draco asked in return.

Hermione went to answer, but found her words, little more than a garbled mess of failed explanations, caught in her throat. Glancing between Killian and Draco, she stifled her emotions and attempted to be a pragmatic as possible.

"He's a fugitive," she finally said.

"A what?" Draco scoffed. "You did not seriously just—"

"Regardless of the truth in it," Hermione clarified. "In the eyes of the Ministry, and as such, the law, he is still a wanted criminal."

"Talk to your friend here, Potter," Draco said, curtly addressing Harry as he approached. He then abruptly turned and walked towards Killian.

"Everything okay?" Harry asked.

"Did you know?" Hermione returned, ignoring Harry's inquiry altogether.

"No," Harry answered. "But I can't say that I'm surprised."

"And you're all right with it?" Hermione asked on.

"Honestly?' Harry started, then paused before continuing with his thought. "Whether I like it or not, Killian is significantly involved in all of this. On top of that," he paused again. "We're not exactly overflowing with trusted allies at the moment."

Harry was right. Of late they have been on an island of a sort. Torn between two worlds and two organizations of power in the Ministry and the Conclave; neither to be entirely trusted.

Having regained her composure, Hermione went back to Killian, whom had been joined by his former housemate.

"If he is to be traveling with us," she informed Draco, "he will be under my direct charge. Is that clear?"

"He's standing right here," Draco pointed out. "Probably can tell him that yourself."

After a subtle hesitation, Hermione addressing Killian.

"Under no circumstances are you to be wandering off to your own ends," she reiterated to the foremost member of the Triad. "You are to be under constant supervision and will not act in any manner without having been instructed to do so."

Killian cocked his head, his expression stark and deadpan, as if he was awaiting something further. Hermione's direction of thought, however, had hit a wall.

"Perhaps you would like him tethered on a leash?" Narcissa offered as she, Lucius, and Astoria with Scorpius in tow approached.

"Thank you, mother," Draco said with a frustrated smirk. "You are ever so helpful."

"It was merely a suggestion," Narcissa continued, feigning innocence. "It's clear she does not wish for Killian to be out of her sight. No doubt her husband finds himself obligated to the similar requests … Albeit for very different reasons, of course."

"Yes, well it appears to be time," Lucius interjected as peacemaker before Hermione could offer a response to Narcissa's biting tongue.

Almost as if on cue, the Hogwarts Express unleashed an ear-piercing shrill. Hermione and Harry walked to the entrance of an empty car and waited for Draco and Killian. Before the two Slytherins followed, Astoria gave her husband a final embrace.

"I'll be fine," Draco assured with a sigh, taking in the scent of her hair. "You look after your mother," he instructed Scorpius, who nodded in return.

"Mind yourselves," Lucius warned. "You are setting into motion something that cannot be taken back."

"Setting into motion?" Draco asked rhetorically. "I think we are well past that moment, don't you?"

"So we are," Lucius conceded. "And it pains me to say that you have chosen your company well. The Fates certainly do seem to shine upon Mr. Potter," he went on before addressing Harry directly. "Do promise to come back alive, won't you?" he added with feigned concern.

"I wouldn't dream of disappointing you," Harry called back with a grin. "If I recall, you offered Hermione the opportunity to search your estate for contraband. Wouldn't want to miss that now, would I?"

"I shall look forward to it," Lucius said in a severely condescending tone, bowing slightly to Hermione as she entered the train car.

Harry followed in suit, laughing to himself as they made their way to an empty compartment and sat. Hermione, however, was not feeling quite as amused, Narcissa's words still burning in her ears.

Out the window, she saw Killian approach Lucius and exchange a few short words before a firm and proper handshake. Narcissa was not quite as proper, hugging Killian firmly as a mother would embrace her son, an image that made the previous exchange of words all the more biting.

Killian stepped aside as Draco took his turn with his parents, seemingly less appreciative of his mother's tears and smothering embrace. After a final kiss for Astoria, Draco and Killian entered the train car. A moment later, the two joined Harry and Hermione. Killian removed his longcoat and tossed it aside before sitting opposite the Gryffindors.

"All that blubbery," Draco scoffed as he sat alongside Killian. "Sometimes, I swear you're lucky your parents are dead, Potter."

"I wouldn't describe it as _lucky_ ," Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, you know what I mean," Draco dismissed as he sat back with a heave.

"Yeah ..." Harry smiled, shaking his head and looking out the window, watching the platform slowly fall away as the Hogwarts Express began to depart. "Oddly enough, I know _exactly_ what you mean."

. . .

For the next several hours, little was said. Draco and Harry discussed various occurrences within the Ministry, suspicions of allegiances, and other gossip while Hermione quietly read her copy of _Lords and Master of Voldavia_. Killian, on the other hand, kept to himself, staring out the window as the scenery passed by.

"Harry, could you see if there's a blanket in the overhead," Hermione asked as she lay her book in her lap and folded her arms for warmth.

"I doubt you'll find anything up there," Draco pointed out as Harry stood. "The train is not prepped for passengers."

After a few seconds of searching, Harry agreed with Draco's assertion.

"Sorry, Hermione," he apologized as he returned to his seat. "It is bloody cold in here," he added. "Guess we should have thought about that."

"Should have," Draco agreed. "Didn't."

Without a word, Killian reached for his longcoat, offering it to Hermione. Hermione hesitated, almost rejecting the offer, before taking the coat, curling up, and covering herself.

"Thank you," she said, leaning back and nestling into her seat.

Killian simply nodded before his eyes returned to the passing scenery.

Hermione could tell that Killian was being purposely detached. He was distancing himself from her, trying to forget, building a wall. She could see it in his mannerism as he sat across from her, failing to make eye contact even as he offered his coat.

With the chill in the air growing ever stronger, Harry removed his wand, and with a quick flick, there was a handful of burning embers hovering the center of the compartment. It did not emanate much heat, but the little it offered was better than nothing at all.

Hermione pulled Killian's coat tight around her, glancing at Killian through the embers, the radiating heat rippling the air between them. She tried to be discreet, but found herself unable to look away as she studied his expression.

"This brings back some memories," Harry mused.

"It does," Draco agreed. "I stomped your face in one of these compartments, didn't I? Two cars over if I remember correctly."

"Not exactly the memories I was referring to," Harry said.

Draco smirked with a shrug. "Well, to each their own."

"Anyway," Harry went on dismissively as he looked to Hermione. "What is it you're reading?" he asked with a glance towards the aged tome in her lap. "And don't say _a book_ ," he clarified with a grin.

"It's just … a book," Hermione answered anyway, although it was more for a lack of a better description than to be clever or sarcastic. She then turned it up to display the spine for Harry.

"Lords and Masters of Voldavia?" Harry read aloud. "Where did you get that?"

"Where do you think?' Draco scoffed before Hermione could reply; not that she was entirely certain how to reply or whether she should even do so.

Whether or not Harry understood Draco's response, he did not press further, merely shrugging it away with a tempered look of perplexity in his expression.

"What kind of book is it?" he asked.

"Um … It's …" Hermione stumbled, struggling to find the right words. "It's essentially various stories surrounding two separate factions of wizardry; The Lords of Dracosenim and the Masters of Terrin. I'm actually not entirely certain how much of it is historical or fanciful, to be honest."

"There's a lot of folklore," Draco offered. "And a lot of stretched truths."

"Are the stories any good?" Harry asked, ignoring Draco's dismissive outlook.

"Yes," Hermione answered honestly. "Some more than others. Do you remember Jacques mentioning the Weaver yesterday?"

"Vaguely," Harry answered.

Hermione flipped through the book until she settled upon the page she sought.

"I came across the story of _Master Beatrice and the Weaver_ last night," she said. "It was …" she paused, recalling the tale in her head. "It was an interesting story."

"What is it about?" Harry asked on.

"It would be difficult to sum up with any amount of expedience," Hermione answered. Harry look of expectation indicated to Hermione that she would have to attempt the feat regardless. "Well," she began, "there was a powerful sorceress; a member of the Third Council—"

"Third Council?" Harry asked.

"If you're going to ask for details regarding every aspect, I will never finish," Hermione explained with a laugh.

Harry raised a hand in submission and settled back, crossing his arms and indicating that his lips, henceforth, would be sealed.

"So," Hermione continued, "this sorceress, Master Beatrice Corvin, was married to Lord Barris Corvin. Not a Dracosenim Lord," she quickly clarified. "Not even a sorcerer. He was more of a nobleman of wealth and influence. And although the match, to most, seemed to be an arrangement of convenience within thier social class, Master Beatrice deeply loved Lord Corvin.

"Employed by the Corvins was a servant who worked at their estate on a small island in the center of a long and narrow lake. This girl had fallen in love with a young knight of the realm whom she hoped, one day, to marry. Before she could acquire the blessing of her Lady, however, the girl became a subject of Lord Bariss' wandering eyes.

"One night, while weaving a tapestry in her quarters high in the north tower, the servant was visited by Lord Barris. In a drunken stupor, he forced himself upon her. She fought against his advances, the chaotic noise of her struggle drawing the attention of Master Beatrice, whom arrived to discover her husband atop her servant.

"Confused and enraged, Master Beatrice found herself wavering, wishing to believe her husband's tale of the servant having bewitched him, whist ignoring the young girl's pleas of innocence.

"Seeing the loom, Master Beatrice then placed a curse upon the girl. She was to weave a tapestry, the images of which would relay the truth of what had occurred; a retelling of history so to speak. Until such time, the young girl would be sealed within her tower room unable to lay her eyes upon another living soul. Her only source of interaction was through the reflections in a small hand mirror she kept at her side.

"To ensure her plan was not interrupted, Master Beatrice cast a veil upon the island, cloaking it from the shores, unable to be reached by water. And all the while, the servant remained in her tower, weaving away endlessly, powerless to control the images as they fell from her mind and displayed one after the other, recounting Lord Barris' actions. And when the tapestry was complete, Master Beatrice saw her husband for who he was.

Blinded with anguish, she struck Lord Barris with a powerful jinx that sent him crashing through the tower window where he fell to his death below. Heartbroken and overwhelmed with pain and sorrow, Master Beatrice then followed her husband and joined him in his fate."

"That … is … horrible," Harry said, his eyes wide and concerned.

"It actually gets worse," Hermione warned.

"How could that possibly get worse?" Harry asked, aghast at the idea.

"Master Beatrice took her life before releasing her servant of the curse," Hermione explained. "So the young girl remained trapped within her tower room, forever weaving history as it occurred. Thus, her namesake, the Weaver."

"You were absolutely right," Harry agreed. "That did get worse."

"I'm still not finished," Hermione pointed out.

"Are you serious?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"One day, as the girl tended to her loom, she heard her name echo across the water," Hermione went on. "Recognizing the voice, she hastily reached for her mirror and saw the reflection of her young knight, who had been searching for her for weeks. But the veil that had befallen the island hid her tower from view. As such, she had become lost to him.

"For many months her knight would return with each morning light. She would hear her name upon his lips and see his reflection as he rode along the shore upon his valiant steed in search of his lost love.

"Then one day, he ceased calling out. Instead he simply walked to the shore and stared out over the waters. Day after day, year after year, she watched his reflection in her mirror as her knight grew older and older still.

Finally, a morning came when the elderly knight who stared out across the waters did not return. His body had grown weak, his bones brittle. Soon after, he drew his last breath. Now truly alone in the world, the young servant girl, trapped in time within her tower, continued to weave forevermore."

The compartment fell silent, Harry's eyes focused on Hermione in reluctant, almost anxious contemplation.

"Please tell me that's the end," he pleaded.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a reserved smile. "That's all there is."

"Honestly," Harry teased, "if it went on any longer, I might have thrown myself out a window."

"I don't think it's that bad," Hermione said, glancing down at the yellowed pages.

"Really?" Harry asked. "Which part? The drunken sod of a husband who tried to force himself on his servant? The murder suicide? To be so close to your truest love, but unable to reach them?" He shook his head. "That last bit more than anything would be devastating."

"Don't worry Potter," Draco offered in a richly condescending tone. "I'm sure you'll always have your little Ginny."

Without a word, Killian stood, reached for the compartment door, and exited abruptly. Harry looked to Hermione, who immediately looked to Draco.

"What?" Draco asked. "You didn't honestly believe he would follow your precious rules, did you?" Having received no audible response from his companions, Draco sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I'm sure he's just stretching his legs." With his second explanation being met with the same silence, the pallid Slytherin sighed again. "Bloody hell," he groaned as he got up and followed Killian.

As Draco's footsteps faded into silence, the compartment became quiet. For the next several minutes, the only sounds came from the Hogwarts Express as it clanked along the rails, cutting through open fields basked in the shadows of nightfall. Hermione curled up tighter beneath Killian's longcoat, randomly flipping through the various stories in _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_.

"So," Harry began, breaking the silence. "That was a rather detailed retelling of the whole … Weaver … thing."

"I've skimmed through it a few times," Hermione admitted.

"Why?" Harry asked. "I mean, why a story like that? It's such a tragic tale."

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "Maybe because there's a certain beauty in tragedy."

"I suppose," Harry conceded, albeit not wholeheartedly.

The compartment fell into silence again. Hermione eyes danced across pages, her fingers gently gliding along the inside of Killian's longcoat as it enveloped her, keeping the surrounding cold at bay.

"Harry," Hermione then asked, her voice meeker than she intended. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Harry answered simply.

"What does it …" Hermione started and then stopped. She looked out the window, mustering the courage to go on. "What does it feel like … when you look at Ginny?"

Harry laughed. "That's a bit random, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, although she was not entirely sure why she felt it necessary to do so.

"No, it's fine," Harry assured. "Just kind of an odd question. What does it feel like? I'm not sure what you mean."

"You've been together for a long time now," Hermione went on, her fingers continuing to caress the inside of Killian's coat. "Does it feel the same?"

"The same as what?" Harry asked, thoroughly amused.

"When you first knew," Hermione asked. "When you first knew that she was the one."

"I don't know," Harry answered contemplatively. "I mean, I guess I feel the same … It's just different, that's all."

Hermione turned back towards Harry. "How can it be the same and different?" she asked.

"Well," Harry tried to explain. "When I first … _knew_ … it was like this swimming feeling that made me dizzy when I was around her and sick when I wasn't … It's hard to explain."

"And now?" Hermione asked.

"Now," Harry answered. "I still get the same feeling when she's gone. I feel an emptiness when she's away, like I can't really be here if she's not here with me. And then when she's near me, it's like I'm whole again."

Hermione pressed her eyes closed.

"So you believe that you were truly meant to be together?" she asked.

"I do." Harry smiled. "I _truly_ do."

Harry's words tore at Hermione. There was nothing wrong with them. They were spoken perfectly. They were everything they should have been. But they simply seemed to raise more questions, create more chaos, open more wounds.

"What if it never happened?" Hermione asked.

"What never happened?" Harry asked in return.

"What if you stayed with Cho?" Hermione clarified. "Or found someone else entirely … and you and Ginny never came together?"

Harry seemed to ponder the thought for a moment. At first, Hermione thought he was simply stalling, not wanting to answer the question that was posed. But she soon realized that he was genuinely searching for an answer.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I think I would always wonder if I had made the right choices. Would probably spend a lot of time wondering what life would have been like had it played out differently." Harry looked at Hermione, his eyes sympathetic. "But we're not talking about me and Ginny anymore, are we?" he asked.

Hermione did not answer immediately. How could she. There was no answer she could offer that would come out as she intended.

"I love Ron," she said at last.

Harry smiled. "I know."

Hermione knew that Harry could see beyond her words. He always could. She had no real secrets from him. But now she was aching. Everything that Harry had said about Ginny … Hermione did not feel that way about Ron. She never did. She loved him, but she never longed for him, never felt the emptiness when he was away. Not like the emptiness she felt when Killian disappeared from her life.

Listening to Harry's feelings for Ginny was like hearing the darkest secrets of Hermione's heart spoken aloud. Secrets she should have kept hidden. Secrets she knew she could not. She doubted herself. No matter how hard she fought to deny it, she doubted herself.

As they sat in awkward silence, Draco returned to the compartment. Killian was not with him, not that it was particularly surprising.

"We're nearly there," Draco said as he sat down.

"Where's Killian?" Harry asked.

"He's fine," Draco assured. "Insisted on staying in the front car … Keeping watch. You know how he is."

"And this is all right?" Harry asked of Hermione.

"It's …" she began to answer, shaking her head with almost defeated indifference. "It's fine."

Hermione then turned away from Harry once again as he and Draco broke into another conversation of meaningless chatter. She pulled Killian's coat firmly around her and closed her eyes, hating herself for feeling comforted by the scent of his skin emanating from the leather.


	19. Chapter 19 - Silver-haired Headmaster

_Another post ... It's almost like I'm back to a pseudo regular schedule. This one is a bit shorter than the last few. But I like to think it just gets to the point so I can get to the next point ... as stories often do, at least in theory._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Nineteen -_

 _The Silver-haired Headmaster_

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade. The platform was just as empty and desolate as it had been at King's Cross. However, Hermione's spirits were lifted when she saw a familiar massive and burly shadow standing under the early evening moonlight.

"Ey 'Arry," Hagrid called to them as the trio exited the train car. "Draco, good teh see yeh … and 'Ermione, always a pleasure with you 'round."

Hermione smiled as she Killian's coat draped over her arm. "Hello, Hagrid."

"Trav'lin light, I see," Hagrid went on. "Best be go'in. Reckon you all could use a good sit down."

"We're not taking the boats, are we?" Draco asked, seemingly disgusted by the thought.

"Course not." Hagrid laughed. "Boats 'er for first years. Got us a thestral carriage right over there."

Hagrid led the group to the carriage waiting at the end of the platform. Contrary to their early experiences, there was no magical force drawing this carriage. After the events during their last years at Hogwarts, Draco, Harry, and Hermione had all seen death. Thestrals were invisible to their eyes no longer.

"Wait!" Hermione asked, stopping and turning back towards the train. "Where's Killian?"

"Didn't see 'im," Hagrid admitted.

"Draco?" Hermione chirped accusingly as she whirled around on the pallid Slytherin.

"It's fine," Draco assured Hermione.

"And what, exactly, does that mean?" Hermione asked on, not satisfied with Draco's dismissive attitude.

"He exited the train early," Draco explained. "Would seem a bit off if we were seen traveling through Hogsmeade with a known fugitive, no?"

"I'm sure he will meet up with us," Harry whispered to Hermione in an attempt to ease the situation.

Hermione, however, was having none of it.

"I specifically stated that Killian was not to be left to his own ends," she chastised.

"Have you and Killian never met?" Draco asked, rich with sarcasm. "I'm certain it comes as no surprise to you that contrary to my mother's failed wit, he's not one to be tethered on a leash."

Frustrated with her inability to control the situation as she had wished, Hermione reluctantly submitted and boarded the carriage alongside Draco and Harry while Hagrid walked alongside. In the distance, Hermione could see the outline of Hogwarts' spires against the backdrop of the night sky. She looked over at Harry and saw his eyes fixed in the same direction. His smile was almost silly. It was as if he were coming home for the first time in years. Of course, in reality, that was not far from the truth.

Once they reached the grounds of Hogwarts, the group made their way to Hagrid's hut. Before long, they had a roaring fire burning out front, crackling and sending sparks into the air that danced and twirled before succumbing to the darkness.

A rustling of leaves preceded the entrance of Wraith and Altimus, who appeared from the darkness of the Forbidden Forest beyond Hagrid's abode. Harry stood and greeted the duo as they made their way over to the fire.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see the two of you," Harry greeted.

"I don't know," Altimus said with a grin. "I like to think we're always a surprise. Pleasant one, of course."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, her tone not quite as inviting as Harry's.

"Killian sent word about this here little rendezvous," Altimus explained. "Asked us to check the grounds and all. Make sure it was secure."

"Secure?" Hagrid asked defensively. "Hogwarts is as safe a place as there is. Won't be havin' no arguments 'bout it."

"Easy big fella," Altimus said with his hand raised in submission. "Not saying it isn't. Just outside the boarders, however … That's another story entirely."

"Is there a problem?" Hermione asked.

"Your hired muscle," Altimus answered. "All day long they've been buzzing about the boundaries of the grounds like insects. Saw two more of them just now."

"They're not mi—" Hermione stopped herself, took a breath and continued. "How would they even know we would be here?" she asked of Harry and Draco.

"Good question," Harry asked in return. "Who else knew we were coming?"

Harry and Hermione then looked to Draco, who immediately appeared immediately agitated by the insinuation.

"You honestly think my family would have leaked something to Tiberius?" he scoffed. "What would be the point in it?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "But how else do you explain the Ministry's hired hands scouting about the borders of Hogwarts? Little doubt they're here on Tiberius' orders. Meaning someone must have informed him of our intentions."

"How many were there?" Hermione asked of Altimus.

"I dunno," he answered. "Five, maybe six altogether."

"And two more just outside Hogsmeade," came Killian's voice from the other side of Hagrid's hut.

"There he is," Hagrid announced as Killian turned the corner and joined the group.

"Hello, Hagrid," Killian greeted in return before addressing Harry. "The Malfoy's were not the only ones to know of our intentions," he pointed out. "Liam, Bailey, Jacques, George—"

"Yes, but they're clearly allies," Harry interjected.

"As are the Malfoys," Killian quickly countered.

Harry's mouth opened in an attempt to respond, but no words came from it. He then ran his fingers through his hair, looking to Draco with humility.

"I didn't mean—" he began.

"Yes you did, Potter," Draco cut in curtly. "It's fine," he quickly added, though his tone was not quite as forgiving as his words. "Old habits and all."

"Right," Hagrid interjected. "Since we're all 'ere, might as well make our way on up. Don't want the keep ole Filch waiting, crabby as he is."

Hagrid began up the path towards the school with Harry and Draco. As Killian as the Triad began to follow, Hermione approached with Killian's longcoat still draped over her arm.

"You left your coat," she said as she returned it to Killian.

"Oh, well look at Mr. Chivalry," Altimus teased. "Offered the little lady your coat, did you?"

"Some are born with better manners than others," Wraith chastised Altimus with a cold glare.

"I have manners," Altimus defended. "I was brought up right well."

"Stop yourself," Wraith scoffed. "I could toss a stone in any direction and strike four men of your like."

"You may strike four men if your aim's true," Altimus agreed, "but they won't be the likes of me!"

Hermione laughed as she turned and started off after the others. "Are you arguing for or against her point?"

Altimus paused in thought. "She's got me there," he conceded with a grin.

. . .

Soon, the Triad and the Ministry officers were walking the hallowed halls of the historic school of witchcraft and wizardry. Hagrid passed the group off to Argus Filtch, who led the way to the Headmaster's office while Peeves tagged along spewing inflammatory rhymes.

 _Muggles, Purebloods, mixed, and Squibs_

 _All tied round in baby bibs_

 _They drool, they cry, for mom they call_

 _And old man Filtch is the worst of all_

"Can't really say I miss that one," Harry whispered to Hermione.

Peeves swooped down and hovered before Wraith as the group walked on.

 _Tiny little angry sprite_

 _Walks along by candle light_

 _She can't so much—_

This latest jab was cut short as Wraith abruptly drew her bow and fired a bolt of red energy, taking Peeves' head clean off. It reappeared a moment later, and pesky poltergeist whirled away, muttering obscenities as he disappeared through one of the walls.

"Tiny little angry sprite, indeed," Draco mused.

"You have no idea, brother," Altimus assured.

When they reached the gargoyle on the seventh floor, Killian turned to Altimus and Wraith. "Wait here," he said.

"What's the password?" Hermione asked Filtch.

" _Pompous graduates_ ," Filtch answered. The gargoyle began to spin, revealing a spiraling staircase that led up to the Headmaster's office. "I control the passwords during the summers. Went and had it changed special for your visit. Although, I admit that I rather like this little one," he added with a glance toward Wraith, "taking it to Peeves as she did. Bit of bite in her, eh?"

Wraith stared daggers at Filtch as Hermione narrowed her eyes at the incredulous caretaker.

"On and up you go, then," he said with a gesture towards the stairs. "And mind you don't touch what doesn't belong to you. Headmaster is not partial to pesky paws on his personal items."

Quietly, Harry, Hermione, Killian, and Draco ascended the stairs. The heavy wooden door atop the landing was unlocked and opened with a creaky whine. As the entered, they glanced around the dusty office cluttered with various tomes, talismans, and other such items of one magical sort or another. The stone walls were lined with shelves, tapestries, and dozens of portraits of Headmasters past, all sleeping soundly.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione lit several candles. The illuminating glow revealed Harry standing before the slumbering portrait of Professor Dumbledore, staring silently at the silver-haired Headmaster. Killian's, on the other hand, was across the room. His focus fell upon the portrait of the dark, stern, and ever distant Severus Snape in stoic repose.

Hermione recalled that for a time after the second wizarding war, Snape's title as Headmaster was revoked and erased from Hogwarts' lineage. It was Harry who persuaded the Ministry to reinstate the former head of Slytherin posthumously and, as such, hang his portrait in the Headmaster's office where it belonged.

Killian, much like Harry, stared up at his mentor with a guarded expression of loss and regret. Draco joined Killian's side, touching him on the shoulder and guiding him quietly back to the group. Whatever words were exchanged, they were not audible beyond their ears.

"Professor?" Harry whispered cautiously.

Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes and shook a bit of clarity into his head. "Harry?" he greeted warmly, if not curiously. "What a surprise." He looked to Hermione next. "And Miss Granger? It is still Miss Granger, is it not?"

Hermione felt a knot rise in her stomach. "Professor, I'm afraid we don't have much time for conversation," she said, avoiding the question entirely. "We need your help."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Although I'm not entirely certain in what way I can be of service." He then noticed the other individuals standing with Harry and Hermione. "Draco Malfoy and Killian Finn …" He took a deep breath as another warm smile beamed across the weary Headmaster's face. "I am quite proud of the company the two of you have come to keep."

"It's merely work related," Draco assured.

"Even so," Dumbledore went on. "There was a time, not so long ago, when I would not have believed I would witness the day a Slytherin stood alongside a Gryffindor."

"Perhaps it is Gryffindors standing with Slytherins," came a drawling voice from the shadows.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore conceded with a glance to Snape's portrait. The banter, it seemed, had awoken the former Potions master. "Either way, it pleases me to see."

"Quiet down!" came another voice, bitter and agitated. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Calm yourself, Armando," Snape said, curtly dismissing the complaint of the portrait of Professor Dippet. "You have slept quite extensively this summer."

"And quite loudly," Dumbledore whispered to Harry with a wink. "So tell me," he went on, redirecting the conversation to the subject at hand. "What is it that brings you here?"

"We need information, Professor," Hermione said. "Information about a dark artifact."

"I see …" Dumbledore nodded with a tinge of concern in his expression. "What sort of dark artifact might this be?"

"Honestly, I'm not entirely certain—" Harry began before Killian stepped forward.

"The sort that allows its possessor to raise the dead," he explained, much to Hermione and Harry's surprise.

Dumbledore looked to Harry. "Excluding the obvious, I presume?"

"Um, yes Professor," Harry bumbled, clearly thrown off by Killian's remark. "The Resurrection Stone is long gone, no doubt swallowed up by the forest years ago."

"Not the Resurrection Stone," Killian clarified. "We seek one half of a talisman. A talisman that, once joined with its mate, offers the ability to command fallen warriors."

"You speak of _ridiere mors mortis_?" Dumbledore asked grimly.

"I do," Killian answered.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his painted chair and pondering for a moment. "Have you any thoughts on this, Severus?"

"There are many artifacts that claim such powers," Snape answered coolly. "Impossible to name them all."

"I don't need them all," Killian said, now having completely taken control of the conversation as Harry and Hermione listened with eyes wide and mouths agape. "Only the one that can fulfill its claim."

"The Spiorad Druma has already been discovered," Draco spoke up.

"And you now seek the Eye," Snape concluded. "Tell me what purpose has you in search of such dark magic," he continued, glaring down upon his former student and apprentice.

"It needs to be protected," Draco answered.

"From whom?" Snape asked on, now eyeing Killian intently.

"Gaius Mideus."

Killian's answer brought gasps from many of the other portraits who had awoken to eavesdrop on the conversation. Hermione was left dumbfounded, certain Killian's answer would have been Tiberius Mourdim or Akuma Senshi.

Snape looked to Dumbledore, who lowered his head in contemplation. What followed, shook Hermione further.

"So, the Outcast has reemerged," Dumbledore finally began, regretfully. "This is disappointing news indeed. However, I am afraid I do not have the answer you seek."

"Nor I," Snape concurred.

The emotional swing made Hermione's head swim. In one moment, the name of the Outcast Killian spoke of in the ruins of his family library was revealed at last. In the next, came the bitter disappointment in realizing that they had arrived at a dead end.

In truth, Hermione had been fearful of this from the start. George's idea had been quite clever on principle. Portraits, however, regardless of whom they depict, are still mere portraits. They are not ghosts, they hold no thoughts or truths, only representations. As such, it was highly unlikely such information, both specific and obscure, would be held within such a limited medium.

"Appears we're right back where we started," Draco grumbled in frustration.

"So quickly one falls at the feet of despair," Dumbledore offered with another warm smile.

"A simple admission of ignorance regarding the information you require," Snape explained curtly, "is no indication that the answer may not yet still be contained within these walls."

Dumbledore looked beyond the group. All turned to follow his eyes and saw a glass cabinet containing a shallow stone basin carved with runes and strange symbols.

"Is that …?" Draco began.

"It's a Pensieve," Harry said with a knowing grin.


	20. Chapter 20 - The Eye of Infinitio

_So, disclaimer here. While there is no dialogue in this chapter that is taken directly from JK Rowling's Half Blood Prince, there is a portion of the chapter that is a reinterpretation of a moment Hagrid describes to Harry and Hermione in the aforementioned book. I think that covers all the "not mine, just borrowing" aspects of writing this chapter. You know, just in case JK Rowling happens to read this fanfiction and decides she would like to sue me for the entirety of the seven dollars I have in my pocket ... which almost sounds like a fanfiction in and of itself._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _Chapter Twenty_

 _\- The Eye of Infinitio -_

"A Pensieve?" Draco asked, seemingly both shocked and appalled at the very idea. "There's a Pensieve at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "It's been here a long time."

Hermione remembered well how often Harry had used the Pensieve when they attended Hogwarts. It was, of course, under the guidance of Professor Dumbledore. Even so, it was clear that Draco was not privy to such knowledge, and the thought of such an artifact being held within Hogwarts walls did not sit well with him at all.

"And how, exactly, did this get past the Ministry raids?" Draco asked on.

"It's never been on any list of contraband," Hermione explained simply.

"A magical artifact that can be used to revisit anyone's memories, offered or stolen," Draco continued, "and it never made any list of contraband? If that's not an object of the Dark Arts, then nothing is."

Draco had a point. Although Dumbledore's intentions with the Pensieve were far from nefarious, an object of such capabilities could certainly be dangerous in the wrong hands. But that was a discussion for another day. On this day, contraband or not, the Pensieve seemed to be a solution rather than a problem.

"So we're looking for a memory then?" Harry thought aloud as he glanced through the many vials of cloudy mists that filled the shelves aside the Pensieve.

"I find that mine have always been rather fruitful," Dumbledore offered, "if I may be so bold," he clarified with a smile.

"These are all from the current Headmaster," Hermione pointed out as she searched alongside Harry.

Snape rolled his eyes dismissively. "Must everything be a riddle with you?" he asked of Dumbledore. He looked to Killian. "Behind the desk, third bookshelf from the right."

Killian walked across the office, behind the desk, and scanned the bookshelves. They were filled with various items of no particular value to their search. The third bookshelf from the right, however, differed from the rest. It was filled, top to bottom, with nothing but books.

On the seventh shelf from the bottom sat a particularly worn tome with an image of a wooden bowl containing apples, oranges, pears, and grapes in various stages of decay; _Ravages of the Mind_. Killian ran his fingers along the spine. The bookshelf receded into the wall and slid aside, revealing a dark chamber beyond.

Hermione, Harry, and Draco joined Killian as he stepped inside, their wands alit. The chamber was cluttered with dust and cobwebs covering dozens of shelves holding hundreds of vials or more.

"Had a lot on his mind, did he?" Draco mused aloud.

"Apparently more than I thought," Harry said, his eyes widening as he perused the chamber. "Do we even know what we're looking for?"

"I imagine we'll know when we find it," Hermione answered.

They each took a different section of the chamber and began to search through the vials, reading the brief descriptions ascribed on each label. Many of them had to do with the Wizarding Wars against Voldemort. Some, however, seemed much more ordinary; conversations with friends, professors at Hogwarts, students, and the like.

Hermione then came across a particular memory that caught her eye. _Killian Finn – First year Slytherin – House placement apprehension._ She grasped the vial and looked to Killian. He was dutifully searching the other side of the chamber. She glanced back at the label, wiping the dust away. A part of her desperately wanted to dive into the Pensieve with the memory she held in her hand, to see the boy before she knew him, before his life changed forever, the innocence that had long since faded.

But it was wrong. It was not her memory. She had no right. With a regretful sigh, she placed the vial back on the shelf and moved on.

"I think I may have it," Draco announced, presenting another dusty vial.

Harry turned to Draco. "What did you find?"

"The Eye and the Druma," Draco read aloud.

"Are you certain this is it?" Hermione asked with a glance at the vial in Draco's hand.

"How many Eyes and Drumas can there possibly be?" Draco asked in return with a roll of his eyes.

"Particularly ones Professor Dumbledore found important enough to store in this memory vault," Harry added.

"This one's not Dumbledore's," Draco corrected. "It belonged to Snape."

Draco's revelation was met with silence. Whether it was due to neither Harry nor Hermione knowing exactly how to respond or a fear of responding in the wrong fashion, the moment of quiet was brief and interrupted as Killian swiped the memory from Killian and exited the vault.

Moments later, the four stood before the Pensieve, watching as Killian poured the contents of the vial into the stone basin. When the memory settled, they entered.

Slowly, images came into focus. Buildings of brick and wood, a cobbled road that snaked away in several directions, and a sign hanging from an archway. It was not as tattered and worn as Hermione remembered, but it was the same. _Raturian Square_. She looked to Killian. He had noticed it, as well.

"It appears I have broken my promise," he whispered to Hermione.

Before Hermione could respond, two figures emerged from the darkness and began down the road. These figures were also not as worn as Hermione remembered, but she easily recognized them just the same. Severus Snape, several years before he came to teach at Hogwarts and a gritty looking man in dirty overalls, carrying a toolbox.

"Mr. Dourlish?" Hermione mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Harry asked quizzically.

"They're moving," Draco announced, allowing for Hermione to dismiss Harry's question.

Draco and Harry started off after Snape and Dourlish. Hermione and Killian followed, remaining a few steps behind. There was not a word spoken between them, but she knew that Killian felt uneasy. His eyes wandered across the buildings as they walked on.

Hermione remembered well what happened on these very streets many years after this memory. She remembered the dementors, Tanzar and his brood, how Killian had nearly been killed twice over if not for her and the Weasley twins. Furthermore, she very much remembered the promise of which Killian referred, a promise to her as they lay on the makeshift bed in the back of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that they would never return to this place. While, in truth, this was merely a memory, it felt all too real for Hermione.

As they followed along through this visual memory, the group passed by a building with crescent shaped steps ascending towards heavy wooden doors. Above the doors was a mural carved in stone, albeit not quite finished.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"Saarla Manor," Killian answered without even a glance in the magnificent building's direction as they continued on.

Snape and Dourlish soon made their way to the steps of the building that nearly claimed Killian's life during his seventh year at Hogwarts. Without hesitation, they entered. Harry, however, was not so quick to follow.

"We're going in there?" he asked, examining the strange architecture of Rature's Outpost Embassy of Sulfos Bire, a structure that seemed to defy the laws of gravity in places.

"Relax Potter," Draco said with a sigh. "It's only a memory. Nothing here can harm us."

"Yeah …" Harry conceded. "Still though," he went on. "This place is even odder than the Burrow."

 _You have no idea_ , Hermione thought as they entered the Embassy through doors that had not yet been blown off their hinges by Hermione's explosive curse.

The trio crossed the foyer and found Snape and Dourlish standing before a set of stairs that ascended high into the structure.

"Are you certain you have everything you require?" Snape asked of Dourlish.

"Got it all right here," Dourlish confirmed, gesturing to his toolbox. "Not to worry."

Without a word, Snape began up the stairway. Dourlish shrugged and followed.

"Where are they going?" Draco asked, glancing upwards.

"I don't know," Harry answered, looking up as well, "but these seem to go up forever."

"Why so hesitant?" Killian asked coolly as he walked past them, following Snape and Dourlish. "It is only a memory, correct?"

Killian knew where they were heading. Hermione knew as well.

Further and further up they went up the winding staircase, with each floor exiting into a labyrinth of halls falling into ruin. The steps themselves became rickety and narrow with each passing tier.

When they were near the top, Hermione noticed a particular step that was rotting to pieces. "Not quite missing just yet," she mumbled to herself.

The final flight of stairs became so narrow and steep, they could be mistaken for a ladder. At the top of theses stairs was a small hatch built into the ceiling.

"Aw'right," Dourlish said to Snape. "Go on and do your thing. I'll wait here."

Snape ascended the final set of stairs and disappeared through the hatch. Harry, Draco, Killian, and Hermione followed.

Once through, they were astonished at the sight. The attic space was littered with thousands of Dark artifacts, artifacts that any Death Eater would scarcely like to have found in their possession during one of the Ministry's raids after the first war.

"Look at this place," Harry gasped, walking though the stacks of macabre objects. "It's like the Room of Requirement. At least the room when we found Rowena's diadem," he quickly clarified.

"Only a bit darker," Draco added. "I imagine my father has an item or two in here … Or did, when this memory took place."

"You know where we are?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly," Draco admitted. "My father once told me that there was a place where wizards hid away anything that had to do with the Dark Arts after the end of the first war. I imagine this is it."

"Then why is Snape here?" Harry asked on as the future Potions master strode among the clutter.

"He was a Death Eater, Harry," Hermione surmised. "It's likely he had objects to get rid of as well. Whether he was working for the Order or not, Dark artifacts were illegal and carried a heavy penalty."

Snape suddenly stopped, bringing a silence to the conversation. He removed a small object from his beneath his robes. It was an odd item consisting of a tapered wooden cylinder with a sheet of leather pulled tight over the top and bound by copper hooks.

"Is that the Spiorad Druma?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Killian answered simply, his eyes on his former mentor.

Snape placed the Druma amongst the litter. He then turned and walked to a dark corner of the attic. There he removed a second item. It was about the size of an apple, spherical, and crystal with an oblong glow emanating from its core.

"I'm going to say that's the Eye of Infinitio," Harry asserted.

Snape removed his wand and waved it over the Eye of Infinitio. Instantly, the crystal sphere morphed into a tattered shoelace. He cast the mundane fastener into the corner amongst a pile of dust and debris. Another flick of his wand resulted in several orbs of light appearing and slamming into the walls, floor, and ceiling, bathing them in a blue glow before they returned to their normal appearance.

"He's sealing the room," Hermione said.

"Everything but that hatch," Harry pointed out with a gesture to the open space in the floor.

Again, Snape waved his wand. This time, two dark and decrepit figures emerged from nothingness into being. They were frighteningly familiar figures to all in the room. Figures that brought forth a coldness within one's soul that could not be warmed by the fiercest of fires. Dementors.

As the tasked guards of Azkaban prison swayed in the air, Snape exited the hatch. Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Killian quickly followed. So quickly, in fact, that they passed right through Snape on their way down the ladder-esque flight of stairs.

Snape closed the hatch and turned to Dourlish. "You will have only a few moments to secure the hinge."

"Or what?" Dourlish asked quizzically. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing of your concern," Snape answered as he descended the stairs.

"Of course it's not," Dourlish agreed with a smile. "Just a simple working man here. No need to get all up in everyone's business, right?"

Snape simply looked away in disgust. Dourlish ascended the stairs and removed a lustrous silver hinge etched with intricate carvings from his toolbox along with an odd looking screwdriver with several heads.

Draco's mouth fell agape, his skin growing more pale than normal as Dourlish began to install the hinge. He looked to Killian. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Killian did not answer, something that did not go unnoticed by Harry.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, glancing between Killian and Draco.

"Nothing," Hermione interjected, eyeing Draco firmly. "It's nothing."

"It's something," Harry protested. "Otherwise these two wouldn't be—"

"That hinge was used to repair the Vanishing Cabinet that allowed the Death Eaters access to Hogwarts," Killian explained, his tone cold and devoid of emotion.

"What?" Harry appeared to be caught off guard. "That hinge right there?" He looked to Draco, then back to Killian. "So you … you retrieved that hinge for Draco? You were … helping him?"

"He didn't know," Draco spoke up in Killian's defense. "He was merely asked to get something for me. He had no notion as to what it was for. What happened that night was my fault and mine alone."

Killian gaze fell to the floor. "You do not have the power to cleanse me of my sins, Draco."

Hermione stepped to Harry, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him intently in the eyes. "Harry, it's not what you think," she tried to explain.

"How could you possibly know what I think?" Harry asked, his expression dazed and contemplative. "I don't even know what I think."

Dourlish finished his work and ascended the stairs under the watchful eyes of Snape. As he did, he faded away. Snape soon faded as well. The walls began to weather further as more dust and cobwebs grew from the corners. On the floor, a cold and lifeless body appeared.

"Who is that?" Draco asked as he took a step back.

"Mr. Dourlish," Killian answered.

Before anyone could respond to the rotting corpse that lay at their feet, Snape reappeared. This time, he was much more recognizable as the professor they knew at Hogwarts, carrying his wand at the ready as he cautiously ascended the stairs and entered through the now splintered hatch.

Once they were all back in the attic, they immediately noticed that it was completely empty. All of the Dark artifacts had been removed. Hermione recalled Dourlish telling her and Killian that it was unlikely anything still remained in that old hiding place when they were there to retrieve the Barrier Hinge. It appeared he was incorrect. Nothing had been removed at that time. The presence of the Dementors confirmed it. Whatever had been taken, it was taken after the night that she and Killian were there.

Snape wandered over to the same corner in which he had tossed the old shoelace. He sifted through the dust and filth, finding it there, right where he had left it. No one would have paid any attention to something so common and worthless. He waved his wand over the lace and it changed back into the shiny crystal sphere it had once been.

Suddenly, everything went dark. When the room came back into focus, Harry, Hermione, Killian, and Draco were standing on Hogwarts' grounds near the edge of the woods. Dumbledore was speaking with Snape, who held the Eye of Infinitio in his hand.

"I see you have recovered the Eye, Severus," the whimsical Headmaster said as he toyed with Marvolo Guant's ring on his decaying hand. "And what of the other artifacts?"

"Gone," Snape answered. "All of them."

"The Druma?" Dumbledore asked on.

"That would be included in the definition of _all_ ," Snape drawled.

"So it is gone?" Dumbledore concluded.

"For now," Snape agreed. "I imagine it will eventually turn up in Knockturn Alley or some other slum of a High Street. No matter," he went on. "It is useless without the Eye of Infinitio, offering nothing more than inaudible mumbles. The true power is in the Eye."

"True power indeed. One you once stole for yourself, if memory serves correct," Dumbledore mused. "And a power that must be hidden, I'm afraid."

"It will be done," Snape assured. "However, while I have your ear," he went on, "I must again protest against the course we are taking. While at Saarla Manor, amongst everything that was missing, I saw that a Barrier Hinge had been taken."

Harry's jaw clenched firmly, but he remained silent as Draco closed his eyes and hung his head. Killian merely stared on, stone-faced as ever.

Dumbledore brought his hand to his chin, stroking his beard in thought. "A Barrier Hinge? That is an odd item to pilfer. It has little monetary value, and no particular offensive magic. You believe this to be important, Severus?"

"I have no certainty on the matter," Snape answered. "I merely find it unsettling and coincidental. As you said, an odd item to pilfer. I would like to question Draco—"

"You will do no such thing," Dumbledore quipped. "It may force his hand in a manner that does not work to our advantage."

"His hand needs to be forced," Snape persisted. "Just in case it slipped your brilliant mind, you have little time remaining."

Snape's word seemed to cut at Harry. His eyes glistened over as he watched the scene before him. Draco, on the other hand had yet to open his eyes, had yet to raise his head. The grief and regret in their expressions was overwhelming.

"Have faith, Severus," Dumbledore dismissed with smile.

"Faith?" Snape snapped back. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps you are taking too much for granted? That there is more than just your precious faith at stake? That perhaps I no longer wish to do what you have asked of me?"

Dumbledore looked to the ring on his finger once again with a heavy sigh. "It matters not what you wish, I'm afraid. You have agreed."

Snape turned away in disgust as Dumbledore gazed out across Hogwarts grounds. For a moment there was a tense silence between the two powerful and headstrong wizards; a silence broken only by the whistling of the winds through the trees. Finally, Dumbledore conceded.

"Inquiries should be made," he began.

"Inquiries?" Snape asked.

"Into Slytherin house," Dumbledore clarified. "Inconspicuously, of course."

"Of course," Snape agreed with a nod.

"And Severus," Dumbledore warned, "do not press too firmly. The situation is far more delicate than I would like to admit. We do not wish to worsen it further. Now," he went on with wave of his darkened withering hand, "I believe you have a rather pressing task to complete."

The memory began to fade, voices became garbled, and a moment later, Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Killian were standing in the candle lit confines of the Headmaster's office. All eyes fell upon the portrait of Professor Snape, who looked down upon them with his customary scowl.

"We need to talk," Harry said.


	21. Chapter 21 - Fading Reminders

_This post took a little longer than I would have liked. Wanted to put it up last Thursday. In my defense, however, I needed a few extra days to be absolutely certain I was okay with killing off several of the main characters in this story arc ala Game of Thrones._

 _Is he serious? Is he? No ... No he is not. About the second part, at least. I really did want to get this posted last Thursday._

 _Alas ... Enjoy!_

 _Chapter Twenty-one_

 _\- Fading Reminders -_

"I can only assume your insolence indicates you have discovered something of significance," Snape said as he folded his hands calmly across his waist.

"In a manner of sorts, yes," Harry said. "You failed to mention you were once in possession of the Spiorad Druma and the Eye of Infinitio."

"I failed at nothing," Snape responded curtly. "I am merely a portrait. As such, at no point in time have I ever been in possession of an object; talisman or otherwise."

Harry went to respond, but hesitated.

"He makes a point, Potter," Draco whispered, seeming to have enjoyed Snape's mental jab at the Boy Who Lived.

"Well yeah, but …" Again Harry's words failed him.

"Professor," Hermione spoke up. "Lord Akuma has taken possession of the Spiorad Druma. If he is truly a disciple of this Outcast, then it's only a matter of time before—"

"If?" Snape quipped. "Surely you are more informed than to use such an unnecessary qualifier." He looked to Dumbledore's portrait, which seemed to have fallen asleep. With a roll of his eyes, he redirected back to Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Killian. "Regardless, the Spiorad Druma is useless without the Eye," he assured, looking down his nose at his former pupils. "The Outcast will find himself disappointed."

Another aggravated hush emanated from the portrait of Dippet. Snape, as before, curtly dismissed him. And through it all, the former Potions master's manner of calm never wavered. For Hermione, it felt much like being back in school. Just as then, it appeared Snape desired to hold onto his secrets, whatever they may be.

"Then it is possible the Outcast now has the Druma," Hermione reasoned.

"Quite possible," Snape agreed.

"As such," Hermione went on, "logic dictates he will seek the Eye."

"He may," Snape agreed once again. "However, I find it exceeding unlikely he will obtain it."

"You've hidden it?" Harry asked.

"I am merely a portrait," Snape reiterated with a drawling sigh. "As such, at no point in time have I ever hidd—"

"Professor Snape hid it," Harry clarified with frustration.

Snape glared at Harry before answering. "With exceptional skill."

"All lost things are eventually found," Harry said. "You understand why we need you to tell us—"

"Do you really believe the location of such objects would have been veiled within the confines of a portrait?" Snape drawled coolly. "You disappoint, Mr. Potter."

It was an unfortunate truth. One would have to be a fool to imprint such details within such an easily accessible medium. Snape was no fool.

"So that's it?" Draco asked. "We've got nothing."

"We have more than we came in with," Hermione said.

"Which means we came in with less than nothing," Draco snipped. "Not much of an improvement."

"No," Harry agreed reluctantly. "Not much."

Draco continued to grumble under his breath as he and Killian turned toward the exit.

"Mr. Finn …" Snape called to Killian. "I wonder … Are you still the promising, albeit unrefined and foul, student I recall from our sessions?"

Killian looked back to his former mentor, his eyes narrowing in thought. Without a word, he turned away and left with Draco.

Harry and Hermione slowly followed. As they reached the door, Harry glanced back to the portrait of Dumbledore, now sleeping soundly with a peaceful expression etched into the aged and weary Headmaster's face.

"Goodnight, Professor," he whispered. Sighing regretfully, he and Hermione left the office and made their way down the spiraling staircase.

. . .

Believing it was best to get themselves organized, the group met up with Hagrid and made their way back down the hillside to the gamekeeper's abode aside the Forbidden Forest where a warm fire was waiting.

The area around the fire erupted in laughter as the motley crew enjoyed each other's company. Even Hermione joined in the conversations, bantering back and forth as Altimus regaled them with tales of the Triad's exploits. She found it almost fascinating how the different the stories came across when not told through the narrow-minded point of view of the Daily Prophet.

Noticeably absent in the merriment was Killian. He kept his distance, ever vigilant, continuously scanning the grounds and skies. As always, he was sacrificing the present in preparation for the future. Hermione watched him through the flames of the bonfire as he tossed a piece of meat to Fang and stared off into the darkness beyond the Black Lake.

"So, what's it you got there," Altimus asked of Hermione, eyeing the copy of _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ she was holding in her lap.

"No," Draco spoke up. "Do not ask her about that book. We'll be stuck with listening to a recital of _Lord Maris and the Governess of Cyndal_."

"Ah," Hagrid piped in with a broad smile. "Voldavian then, is it?"

"You know of it?" Hermione asked with genuine surprise.

"Course I do," Hagrid answered. "Stories, I mean. Never been there, but Dumbledore used to share a bit here and there. Not really allowed teh talk 'bout it, if yeh get my meanin'. But I'm guessing there's no 'arm in speaking now, is there?"

"I imagine not," Hermione agreed. "Any favorites?"

"Stories?" Hagrid asked. "Oh yeah, would have to be the one 'bout Deihlindral."

"Deihlindral?" Harry asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Aye," Hagrid answered. "The Bone Dragon in the caverns 'neath the Grey Peaks."

"Of course, it would be a story about a dragon," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

"Would think yeh would know this one right well," Hagrid said with a nod to Draco.

"I do," Draco confirmed. "Beyond the Dwarven Woods, across the River of Stones, the trials of the Deihlindral await."

"Trials of Deihlindral?" Harry asked, although it appeared he was merely echoing the thought versus actually posing any form of question. "Sounds ominous."

"And it gets better," Altimus added. "In one were to pass the trials, Deihlindral would grant them a single wish. Whatever they desire."

"Sounds like even more of a fairytale than that one about the Weaver," Harry said with a laugh.

"Absolutely not," Hagrid protested. "Bone Dragon's real. Weaver too. It's just that—"

"No one has ever discovered Deihlindral lair?" Draco pointed out.

"So says some," Hagrid countered. "Could be no one has ever passed the trials though. Wouldn't come back from that now, would yeh?"

"Nor have anyone discovered the mysterious invisible island of the Weaver?" Draco went on. "Weaving time, granting wishes … It's all nonsense."

"Yeah, well I chose teh believe," Hagrid said proudly. "Far more exciting world that way," he whispered to Hermione with a wink.

Hermione smiled. "I agree," she said, albeit whether this was entirely true or not was certainly up for debate.

"Anyhow," Hagrid said, slapping his hands on his legs and rocking back and forth as he glanced between Harry and Hermione. "So, uh …" he went on, seemingly uncomfortable as he cleared his throat before continuing. "How's old Sirius then?" he finally asked.

"You knew?" Harry asked in return.

"Didn't know," Hagrid clarified. "Wasn't something Dumbledore ever talked about. But when I heard what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I hoped. Still hope, I guess."

"He's doing well, Hagrid," Harry answered warmly. "As difficult and rebellious as ever."

Hagrid let out an enormous sigh and Hermione thought his eyes appeared to well under the light of the fire. It was clear that an incredible weight had suddenly been lifted from his massive chest.

"I knew it," Hagrid said, wiping his hand across his beard. "I knew it. Wasn't right, people thinking he'd gone down like that. Not right at all. Knew he was still out there somewhere. Had to be."

"That old scamp will outlive us all," Altimus said before turning to Hermione. "What about you, luv?"

"What about me?" Hermione asked.

"All of this," Altimus clarified. "Him," he added with a nod back to Killian. "Had to be a bit of shock, yeah? Origins and all."

"Shock may not be quite accurate," Hermione admitted. "Although I suppose I should have suspected … something."

"Yeah?" Altimus asked.

"I mean, the signs were there," Hermione explained. "He was always … Different. Most evidently his overly proper manner of speech at times," she added with a teasing grin.

"Oh no, that's just him," Altimus explained with a laugh. "Believe me, he comes across just as pompous on either side of the Veil. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Although Draco offered no audible response, his subtle grin as he tossed a handful of twigs into the roaring fire indicated there was at least a touch of truth in Altimus' comment. Feeling nostalgically playful as she recalled several of her conversations with Killian when they were students wandering the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione chanced a glance towards the reluctant Slytherin only to find the area aside Hagrid's hut was now bare of his presence.

Scanning the area, she turned to see a tall shadow making its way up the path towards the school. She stood and strained her eyes in the darkness, confirming that Killian had, once again, wandered off on his own.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked.

"He's off again," Hermione explained with a frustrated sigh and gesture towards the path.

Harry turned and looked. "Do you want me to go after him?"

"Yeah," Draco scoffed. "That should be an entertaining little confrontation. Just give the man some space," he went on. "He's not going anywhere."

Harry ignored Draco's comment, keeping his focus on Hermione and awaiting a response.

"No, I'll …" Hermione stopped, closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead, and sighed once more. "I'll handle it."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "I could come along."

"No, it's all right," Hermione assured. "I'll be fine."

Harry did not appear as confident as Hermione attempted to sound. Nor did Draco as he cracked another twig and tossed it into the flames.

"Right," Harry said. "Well, be careful. I imagine the grounds are safe. Still though."

Hermione smiled. "I know."

"And it's dark out there," Hagrid warned. "So you be mindin' yer footin'."

"I will," Hermione promised as she turned to head off.

She had only taken a few steps when she bumped into something solid in the darkness. Stepping back, she saw Wraith, her head under her cloak as her crystal blue eyes glistened in the firelight.

"You are his only weakness," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Hermione had barely begun to deduce how Wraith had managed to get out in front of her without so much as a sound when the petite sorceress stepped around her and rejoined the group around the fire as if nothing had been spoken at all. Be it the silent approach or her odd message, Hermione was left rattled as she continued on after Killian.

Once Hermione reached the covered bridge that adjoined the hills with the courtyards of Hogwarts she noticed an outline against the moonlit sky leaning against the rails, eyes scanning the horizon. She approached cautiously, suddenly questioning her decision to follow. Being well beyond the point of turning back, however, she swallowed her doubts.

"You wandered off," she decided as an appropriate icebreaker.

Killian lowered his head, but neither responded nor turned.

"Harry tells me the grounds should be safe," Hermione went on.

"He's likely correct," Killian agreed simply.

Hermione stood there, biting her lip uncomfortably. Why was this so difficult? They used to spend endless hours talking about everything and absolutely nothing at all. Why was it she could not think of a single thing to say now? The question needed no answer, of course. She knew exactly why. She had always known.

"So, this Eye is dangerous?" Hermione asked in an attempt to get some form of response.

Killian lowered his head again, this time laughing to himself.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked.

Although this time Killian turned to Hermione, he was still unable or unwilling to make eye contact with her.

"I find it amusing how often people will ask questions of which they already know the answers," he said.

"I was just—" Hermione started.

"Did you really come up here for idle conversation about the Eye of Infinitio?" Killian asked. "Because I am quite certain either Altimus or Draco would be more than happy to fill you in on the details."

"No, that's not …" Hermione began defensively, but with no particular follow-up to her assertion, her voice fell silent.

Killian turned back and leaned against the rail again as Hermione collected herself. The tension between them bore down upon her with relentless pressure, twisting her stomach and constricting her chest. It was such a complex contradiction of a desire to leave and a need to stay.

But she would not allow it to control her, to overcome her, to defeat her. She would no longer be a prisoner to fear and uncertainty. Whatever may come of it, she was not going to walk away.

"It's odd to be back at Hogwarts," she finally said as she leaned against the rail beside Killian and gazed over the landscape.

"It is," Killian agreed, his voice the most calm and civil it had been since they arrived and King's Cross.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful it was," Hermione went on. "The lake, the castle."

As Killian looked about, his expression tensed, and the calm fell away almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Just fading reminders of a life once lived," he said as he left Hermione's side, walked across the bridge, and entered the courtyard.

Hermione took a deep breath. Her conscience told her to stay on the bridge, to let him go. But everything in her heart pleaded with her to follow. With a heavy sigh, she crossed the bridge just in time to see Killian enter Hogwarts. Shocked at the sight, she ran after him.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a coarse whisper as she reached his side once more. "You can't be in here!"

"Actually, I can," Killian corrected. "The new term has not yet begun, most of the faculty has not arrived, and above all of that, as you well know, arrangements have been made to allow us access. So you need not whisper."

"But Mr. Filtch is—" Hermione tried to argue.

"Aware of our presence and likely far and fast asleep," Killian concluded before Hermione finish her protest.

It made sense. Killian certainly did not appear to be acting as though he had broken into the school. Of course, even if he had, he would not exactly let on. Hermione stood in the dark, empty hall as Killian continued on. The scent in the air, the echoes off the walls, so familiar. Coming to her senses, she noticed Killian heading up a set of stairs at the end of the hall and hurried after him.

"Wait!" Hermione called out.

Killian paused with a frustrated sigh in the hall atop the stairs. "Am I to have an escort wherever I go?" he asked.

"Might I remind you that you're under my charge," Hermione answered authoritatively, although she felt immediately silly for both her choice of words and tone.

"Is that so?" Killian asked, cocking his head.

"Well, yes," Hermione answered. "Technically, I mean."

"Because of my _fugitive_ status, correct?" Killian asked on.

"Under the circumstances …" Hermione began. "I mean, you're _not_ a fugitive … But by law …"

The conversation was not going in the direction that Hermione had planned. Not that she had a particular plan in place, but if she did, this certainly was not it. As Killian dismissed Hermione once again and continued off, a sense of desperation began to grow.

"Were you awake that morning?" she called after him, at a complete loss for coherent thought.

Killian paused and turned back towards Hermione.

"What?" he asked.

"That morning ... At Malfoy Manor," Hermione went on. "Your eyes were closed ... Were you really sleeping?"

"Why are you following me?" Killian asked, dodging the question entirely.

"I … I don't know," Hermione admitted, fighting desperately to contain her emotions, but finding herself suddenly losing the battle. "I'm just talking … With all that's happened … With you … And this," she went on with a wild gesture around them. "I need to keep talking … To get it out … Because if I don't, I don't know if I'll ever have the strength to start the conversation again."

"Some words are best left unspoken," Killian said coolly as he turned his back to Hermione and continued towards a door further down the corridor.

"Don't walk away," Hermione begged.

But her plea fell upon deaf ears. Hermione shuddered as she fought to hold it in. She could feel herself falling apart. In a moment's madness, she drew her wand.

" _Colloportus_!" she cast blindly.

Her charm struck Killian squarely in the back, thrusting him into the door frame before he landed on the cold stone floor. Hermione gasped at the realization of what she had done and ran over to Killian as he stumbled to his feet.

"You shot me!" Killian exclaimed with a mixed expression of anger and astonishment.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, biting her bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably. "I was aiming for the door."

"You missed," Killian pointed out as he dusted himself off. "Miserably."

"I wasn't … actually looking," Hermione admitted.

"You cast with your eyes closed?" Killian asked, even more astonished than before.

"No … Sort of … Not exactly," Hermione bumbled.

Having regathered his senses, Killian looked at Hermione. His lips parted as if to say something, but simply closed again without a word as he adjusted his coat and twisted a knot from his neck.

"I believe we've had enough excitement for the night," he assessed as he, for the third time, attempted to leave.

"Killian!" Hermione persisted.

"What is it you _want_ from me?" Killian asked in exasperation, turning back with a frustrated rage that Hermione had not witnessed since the day she saw him standing amongst the charred remains of his family's estate.

"I don't know!" Hermione cried as tears began to stream from her eyes. "I can't think! I can't breathe! Everything that was supposed to make sense has fallen into _madness_!"

"And what would you have me do about it?" Killian asked with equal emotion.

"Talk to me!" Hermione pleaded. "Please, just talk to me! Tell me I'm wrong! Tell me this emptiness I've felt all these years has been a futile waste, yearning for a fiction that never existed! Tell me I've been a fool for holding on to this for so long … That I've been a fool for denying it … Tell me that you ..." Hermione's words suffocated her as they fell from her lips. "Tell me that you don't love me!"

With that, Hermione broke down completely. She hated herself for letting her emotions overcome her. But what was the point in keeping them in? What was she protecting? He knew. They both knew. Even with all the secrets they had kept from each other over the years, there was one truth that was always certain.

"Is that what you want?" Killian asked, keeping his distance, his eyes on the floor. "You want me to _say_ it? You want me to tell you that my life has not been a hellish void I fight in vain to fill? That I have not lived each day hoping it may be my last? That I may finally reach my end and leave this agonizing life of pain so sharp, so emanating, I would not wish it upon the worst of my enemies?"

He looked up, his piercing green eyes upon Hermione's, his expression pained, yet contained through gritted teeth and tensed muscles.

"You want me to say I do not see you everywhere I look?" he went on as he slowly made his way to her. "That I do not regret? That I would not give everything in my being to go back to that one haunting moment within these halls, find that stupid arrogant boy, and strangle sense into him? To tell him what a fool he was? To show him what he was losing? What he would become for it?"

Killian's hands reached for Hermione, but refrained from grasping their target. Hermione could feel his pain melding with hers as he wavered before her, his heart, his soul being laid bare.

"You wish for me to say I do not _love_ you?" Killian withdrew, balling his fists as he condemned his own actions and desires. "No … I will not tell you that … I will not lie to you."

Hermione now reached for Killian, but found herself unable to hold him, her hands retreating and pressing into her sides. She, too, was wavering. There was a line before her that dared to be broken. A line, once crossed, from which one could never return. It was as if a thousand voices were shouting at her all at once. A moment later, she fell into him, buried her head in his chest, and the world became silent.

"Hold me," she pleaded. " _Please_ hold me."

Killian refrained for a moment, his hands hovering over Hermione's form. But his efforts were in vain as he finally succumbed, embracing Hermione with fervor, holding her close as he breathed her in.

"Hermione," he whispered softly as they leaned back into the stone wall, his weight upon her.

Her name upon his lips made Hermione shudder within his embrace as she clenched his shirt and pulled it away to feel his skin beneath her hands. She reached up, her lips on his neck as he clutched her hair and ran his hand along her waist.

"This is wrong," Killian said, his voice filled with overwhelming regret. "Your heart is no longer mine to hold."

"Killian …" Hermione pressed her eyes closed, running her fingers across his face, drawing him in with all her senses. "I can't deny you anymore. I've tried … For so long I've tried … I just … I can't."

Hermione pulled Killian close once again, feeling the warmth of his cheek against her own as her lips hovered near his ear.

"Promise," she whispered. "Promise you won't leave me again."

There were no more words as Hermione's lips slipped across Killian's face, kissing him, tasting him, feeling whole again for the first time since they were students within these very walls. It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. Their passion, left dormant for so many years, had overtaken their wills. Nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

Suddenly, Hermione and Killian froze as a loud bang from the entrance door emanated from the hall below. A moment later, footsteps echoed through the halls.

"Got some beds set fer yeh," came Hagrid's voice. "Down in the Great Hall. Should be comfortable enough."

"What about Killian and Hermione?" Altimus asked. "Think we should look for them?"

"They're about somewhere," came Draco's dismissive voice. "I'm sure they're fine."

"You think so?" Harry asked.

"Not really," Draco answered. "But whatever."

The voices and footsteps faded away, leaving Killian and Hermione alone once again. Killian stood back, taking Hermione by the hand. As comfortable as the Great Hall might have been, they would find their own place that night.


	22. Chapter 22 - Unrefined and Foul

_Here we are, crossing bridges or building them or whatever metaphor works here. Another post is up and ready. Not a lot to really add here. Things._

 _Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Twenty-two -_

 _Unrefined and Foul_

That night, for the first time in forever, Hermione felt whole. Wrapped within his embrace, their bodies intertwined like pieces to a puzzle that made no sense on their own, yet somehow fell together with perfect precision, becoming one. His breath cascaded across her skin as he caressed her body, unlocking a passion that had long since passed and now flooded back in overwhelming waves that consumed her in entirety. As she drifted to sleep, his arms holding her close, she banished all other thoughts from her mind. She and Killian were all that existed.

When morning arrived, Hermione awoke to find herself alone in a pile of silken pillows and blankets on the floor of the Slytherin common room. She sat up with a start and saw Killian placing a log in the hearth and stirring up the embers beneath.

"The fire had grown cold," he said as he lifted the blanket and slid back aside Hermione.

Hermione lay her head on his chest and settled in. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Barely sunrise," Killian answered. "You can rest. I doubt anyone will be up for hours."

"I'm not tired," Hermione said. She looked up at Killian. "Are you?"

"No," he answered.

His eyes were fixed upon the high ceilings of Slytherin House, gazing on listlessly. Hermione knew he was not looking at anything in particular, he was simply staring off, his mind a wander. She wished to know what he was thinking, hoping it was not any sort of feelings of regret. As he held her firmly in his arms, however, she knew whatever thoughts were bounding about in her Slytherin's head, it did not dissuade his desire to feel her warmth beside him.

A passing glance about the common room caused Hermione's mind to wander as well. This was merely the second time she had ever graced this area of the castle, if graced was even the proper term. She remembered vividly the sensation of exhilaration associated with being in an area that was forbidden to her as well as the enveloping terror of potentially being discovered. In truth, a similar sensation was pulsing through her at that very moment. Furthermore, as she and Killian lay together in their current state of undress, she tried, almost desperately, not to imagine that in a few short weeks the very room they occupied would be littered with students going about their daily activities.

The latter of these thoughts sent a shudder through Hermione that did not go unnoticed by Killian.

"Are you cold?" he asked, sliding his hand back and forth between Hermione's bare shoulder and upper arm. "I could put another log on the fire."

"No, I'm fine," Hermione assured as she nuzzled closer in his embrace. Once settled, she gazed into the flickering tongues leaping about in the hearth. "Tell me a story," she said.

"A story?" Killian asked quizzically.

"A Voldavian story," Hermione clarified.

"I've provided you with a book riddled with every manner of Voldavian lore," Killian pointed out. "Have you not had your fill?"

"First," Hermione pointed out in return, "the idea that every manner of Voldavian lore in existence is contained within a single tome is ridiculous. And second …" she paused for a moment. "I want to hear one from you."

"I'm not much of a storyteller," Killian said. "That would be an area of expertise best left to Altimus."

"Really?" Hermione asked with mock surprise. "Not Wraith?"

"Careful," Killian warned with a laugh. "She might hear you."

His levity, his laugh, his smile, overwhelmed Hermione. They had been so long absent, so missed in her life. Without thinking, placed her hand on his face and kissed him, in part because of desire, in part because she wished to hold onto the emotion without it becoming visually evident.

"Was that supposed to persuade me?" Killian asked with a grin.

"Come on," Hermione argued teasingly. "You must have at least one. Hagrid's favorite is about Deidral—"

"Deihlindral," Killian corrected.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "So, clearly, you know the stories. You must have a favorite as well."

Killian hesitated, again glancing about the ceiling as Hermione's head and hand lay upon his chest, her thumb gently caressing the skin just below his neck.

"My mother," he began and then hesitated again. "She used to read stories to us when we were little. Many stories," he quickly clarified. "But one in particular. _The Silent Soldier of the Lost Princess_."

"Silent Soldier?" Hermione echoed.

"A long time ago, as terribly cliché as it may sound," Killian began, "there was a vow one would take if they had committed a wrongdoing."

"Seems a bit much," Hermione said.

"The wrongdoing would have been something devastating," Killian explained. "Something that had grave consequences. If such an instance occurred, an individual seeking redemption would sacrifice their voice before offering their life and their sword in service of the person or persons they had wronged until they had made it right once again or died in its pursuit."

"And this soldier had wronged a lost princess," Hermione asked.

"He believed he had," Killian answered. "Although he was merely following orders under an ambitious and depraved ruler, he had taken part in in the slaughter of a village as well as the capture and imprisonment of a young girl whom, at the time, had no knowledge of her royal bloodline."

"So he gave his life for this young girl?" Hermione asked.

"She was unaware of the vow or why it had been taken," Killian explained. "It was a rare occurrence. Few even knew of the existence of such a vow. It was already an ancient and forgotten practice when this story supposedly took place. But yes," he went on. "For his sin he gave his voice, his sword, his life … For the Lost Princess."

"Are there any happy Voldavian stories?" Hermione asked.

"Most tales that stand the test of time are woven with pain," Killian said. "At least at their roots. But there are lessons in them, this one in particular. I believe it was why our mother read it to us so often."

"And what lesson is that?" Hermione asked.

"Right your wrongs," Killian answered. "Become a better person than you once were."

Hermione saw more than a simple parable as Killian recounted the tale of the Silent Soldier. She saw a parallel. At least one Killian had clearly created in his own mind.

"You're not a bad person," she said, sitting upright and looking upon Killian as he lay beneath her. "You never were."

"You do not know that with and sense of certainty," Killian said in return.

"Yes, I do," Hermione argued. "I know you. I have always known you. You have your ways, and you're… Well, you're not Harry," she went on. "But Harry isn't perfect either. No one is."

"Hermione—" Killian began.

"No," Hermine continued. "I won't listen to it. I know the things you've done. I know what people have reported. But they don't know you for who you are. They couldn't. Not like I do. And I don't care what Professor Snape or his bloody portrait say, you are not unrefined and foul."

An odd look of contemplation fell across Killian's expression.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously. "What's wrong?"

Killian did not respond immediately. His eyes were narrowed in thought and dancing about vicariously.

"Care to go for a walk?" he finally asked.

"What? Now?" Hermione asked in return. "To where?"

"The potions closet," Killian answered.

"You want to go to the potions closet?" Hermione asked on. "What on earth for?"

"I just thought of something," Killian answered as he stood and started for the exit from Slytherin house.

"Killian!" Hermione called after him. Killian stopped and turned back. "Your clothes,"Hermione continued, stifling a giggle.

Giving both himself and Hermione a quick once over, he grinned. "Of course," he said. "I Imagine you'll be needing yours, as well."

After dressing in haste and tidying the area to eliminate any evidence of their presence, Hermione and Killian left together and hurried their way through the dark dungeons of Hogwarts and corridors beyond.

. . .

Moments later, they were standing outside the Potions master's storage closet. Hermione had not been in that part of the castle since the night the Death Eaters attacked. Her last memory of that particular area was watching Killian emerge from the dust and debris after he blew the storage closet's door from its hinges. Since that time, it had been an area she avoided, even when she returned to Hogwarts for her final term following the end of the war.

"What are we doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Something Professor Snape said," Killian said. "It had been bothering me all night. Then, just now, with you …" he looked at Hermione, grinning, "… it came to me."

"What did?" Hermione asked on, still thoroughly lost.

"When I was his student, Professor Snape used a numerous variety of colorful adjectives when referring to myself or my abilities," Killian explained. "Unrefined and foul, however, were not among those on the list. Potions, or to be more precise, many of the ingredients held within, _can_ be described as such."

"So you think that Snape was trying to tell you something?" Hermione reasoned.

"Yes," Killian answered, "I believe he was."

"Then why didn't he just tell us outright?" Hermione asked.

"As he mentioned to Harry, this particular Snape was only a portrait," Killian answered, opening the storage closet with a wave of his staff. "I'm fairly certain he was completely unaware of what he was attempting to convey. Only that it was important. Perhaps that was Professor Snape's intention; cryptic, general, unable to be deciphered by those for whom it was not intended. As if offering the offer the middle, without the beginning or the end."

"Then let's find the end," Hermione said as she stepped into the dusty old closet.

As when Snape was at Hogwarts, the closet was lined with shelf after ascending shelf of dusty vials, boxes, and other containment devices holding everything from Horntail Tongue to Feribull Venom. There was a semblance of order amongst the chaos, but the logic in it resided soley in the mind of the current Potions master.

"What are we looking for?" Hermione asked as she and Killian searched the closet.

"Something unrefined and foul, I suppose," Killian thought aloud.

As they searched, bringing a rise of dust in the cluttered space, Hermione could not help but notice the subtle differences in Killian's posture and expression. He was grinning. But not in the same manner he had when they were together in the Slytherin common room. Nor was it the almost malicious grin he had become known for in more recent years. Most people who witnessed that particular expression these were soon to feel the Hunter's wrath. No, as Killian scanned the shelves that lay before him, his expression was calm, daresay happy.

"What do you find so amusing?" Hermione asked as she sifted through some vials of Rancid Ragweed.

"I was merely reminiscing," Killian answered, shrugging off his grin and continuing with the task at hand.

"About a storage closet?" Hermione asked with a laugh.

"I spent many an hour with Professor Snape, organizing and labeling some of these very vials," Killian answered, pausing a moment as another grin peeked out the corner of his mouth. "We had some very interesting conversations within these confines. Many of you, actually."

"Me?" Hermione stopped and turned to Killian.

"Nothing of ill nature," he assured. "I simply enjoyed annoying him from time to time. You, as a subject, were an easy means to an end in that regard."

"Oh, was I?" Hermione asked, feigning insult.

"Most definitely," Killian assured. "If you could have witnessed his expression when I said I planned to marry—" He cut himself off, his grin quickly fading away.

Hermione, however, was not so quick to let it go. "You told Professor Snape you were going to marry me?" Her heart felt as though it was being crushed by unseen hands.

Whatever joy Killian had been feeling was now gone, as evident in the return of his deadpan gaze.

"It was a long time ago," he said with marked tension in his tone as he returned to searching through the various vials on the shelf before him.

Hermione wanted to press on, but knew she could not. Her heart could not take it. Not now. The very idea of what could have been was like a sharpened dagger plunging into a fresh wound. Instead, she quietly returned to the shelves, reading through label after label.

Nothing in particular seemed to stand out. While the items scattered throughout the confined space were not exactly the normal things one would find in their cupboard; for a potions closet, it was rather mundane.

Just then, Hermione came across a small green glass container. The container itself did not seem odd. It was the label that caught her eye. _Unrefined Essence of Water Fowl._

"Unrefined and fowl," she said under her breath. "I think I may have found it!"

Killian joined Hermione and examined the container. "Seems like an odd ingredient," he observed. "Have you ever come across a potion that called for it?"

"No," Hermione answered. "Although I'm fairly certain I'm not familiar with every mixture in existence."

"Nor am I," Killian admitted. "However, I am not even certain what the Essence of a Water Fowl would be. It is rather general, don't you think?" he went on. "What manner of fowl is it? I have never seen an ingredient so nonspecific."

Hermione took the glass container in question and carefully opened the lid. Inside they found a flower. Clearly this was not the essence of anything. At first glance it appeared to be little more than a withered and dried lily of a sort. When Hermione reached inside to take the flower, however, she noticed something scribed delicately on the underside of the petals.

" _L_ _umen iacio procul terminus verto_ ," she read aloud.

"My Latin is a bit rusty," Killian said.

Hermione's eyes danced across the words. Her Latin was not exactly up to par either.

"Roughly," she began slowly, "it says _the eye lay at the end of the turn_. Not exactly definitive," she went on. "That could mean anything."

"Not anything," Killian corrected as he pondered the puzzle. "It would have meant something to Professor Snape. Something very specific. End of the turn," he whispered in thought. "End of the turn, end of the turn …"

The answer suddenly sprung up in Hermione's head. It was so simple she almost laughed aloud. "Spinner's End!"

"Spinner's End?" Killian echoed.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "There is no word for spinner in Latin, so he replaced it with _verto …_ To turn. Only he meant to turn around, not to turn a corner. To spin. The end of the turn … The end of the spin … Spinner's End. He hid the eye in his home."

Killian took the flower, examining the words. He then looked to Hermione, the same reminiscent grin appearing on his face.

"You are wonderfully brilliant," he said.

"You were the one who brought us to the potion's closet," Hermione replied humbly. "I merely translated a dead language."

"Brilliant ever still," Killian said as he handed the flower to Hermione.

She accepted it with a slight blush. It was not truly a flower for her, but she felt as though Killian meant more than for her to hold a piece of the puzzle. After all, simple flowers were always his sign of affection. Although this one was not in the form of folded paper, the emotions felt the same.

"We should find the others," Killian offered, taking Hermione's hand and guiding her to the door as she took in the aroma of the aged lily, still present after years of being hidden away in the dusty closet. It appeared that some things of beauty never fade.


	23. Chapter 23 - Oil and Canvas

_Finally another post. I apologize for my absence. It has been ... Well, it has been. And I appreciate the messages received both here on the site and otherwise asking when I will be posting again. As a man much wiser than I once said, "I hate that I have been gone, but it was nice to have been missed." I have no idea who this man was or why he was talking to me. In truth, it was kind of awkward. But he was wise, and that's all that really counts in the end, right?_

 _But I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Oil and Canvas -_

Hermione and Killian reached the Great Hall and met with Harry, Draco, Altimus, and Wraith. To Hermione's relief, no questions were asked of her whereabouts the previous night. Instead the focus fell squarely upon her and Killian's discovery, which was greeted with unexpected doubt.

"Professor Snape hid the Eye of Infinitio in his home?" Draco asked with severe disbelief. "That would be ludicrous. Beyond ludicrous," he went on. "It would be idiotic."

"He's right," Harry agreed reluctantly. "Spinner's End is littered with abandoned homes and busted streetlamps. Not the most enticing place to secure something of importance."

"Does anyone even know who lives in his old hovel?" Altimus asked. All eyes fell upon him immediately. "Not to be the bearer of bad news, but the man died years ago. Likely someone else has taken up residency."

"Or it was left to ruin like the rest of Spinner's End," Draco added, "and everything inside has long since been nicked."

Harry scratched his head uncomfortably and pondered for a moment.

"No …" he began, but then hesitated. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, that's rich," Draco scoffed dismissively. "You honestly don't believe the filthy street sods have picked that place dry?"

"No," Harry clarified. "I mean it wasn't left to ruin."

"How do you know?" Hermione asked.

"Because it was left to Hogwarts," Harry answered.

Hermione was taken aback by Harry's comment. Draco presented more of a mixture of surprise and anger. Even Killian seemed unknowing of this detail, albeit he remained silent.

"Care to explain how you came across this little revelation of yours?" Draco asked.

"When I first became an Auror," Harry began cautiously, "I took the opportunity to peruse a few of the Ministry's files on various individuals. Deatheaters," he quickly clarified. "Snape," he clarified further.

"Harry!" Hermione chastised.

"There were things I wanted to know, things I needed to know," Harry explained. "And reading through files is part of the job, isn't it?" he added as a very weak excuse.

"Accessing Ministry files for personal use is absolutely not part of the job," Hermione chastised further.

"What did it say?" Killian asked, seemingly disinterested in Harry's violation of protocol as well as Hermione's admonishment of Harry for the same.

"A lot of things," Harry answered. "But with regard to Professor Snape's home, it stated very clearly that upon his passing it was left to Hogwarts."

"Why?" Draco asked. "And why would Hogwarts even accept it. What could they possibly want with a dilapidated flat in Spinner's End?"

"Perhaps because there is something there of value," Hermione suggested, having moved past Harry's inappropriate means of gathering this information.

"It's not the Eye," Draco insisted. "It can't be."

"How can you be so certain?" Hermione asked in exasperation.

"Because Jacques said it wasn't there," Draco answered with certainty in his tone, although his certainty was met with empty stares. "Was I the only one paying attention?" he went on. "Jacques very clearly stated he could not sense the Eye on either side of the Veil. Which means it's not at Professor Snape's, nor Spinner's End, nor anywhere else."

"It has to be somewhere," Harry pointed out.

"Logic would dictate," Killian spoke up in agreement.

"Maybe Jacques was wrong," Hermione said.

"Jacques is never wrong," Draco said in return. "If he wasn't certain, he would not have said it."

Hermione glanced at Killian, looking for a sense of direction. She was not as familiar with Jacques as he and Draco were. However, Killian's expression offered little hope that Draco was incorrect in his assertions.

"Then why would Professor Snape have left a trail leading back to Spinners End?" Hermione asked of no one in particular. "It makes no sense."

Killian quietly walked away, nodding to Altimus and Wraith, who followed.

"And where do you think you're going?" Hermione asked with sudden authority.

"To find out," Killian answered simply.

"Just going to waltz on over to Spinner's End, are you?" Draco snipped.

"Not waltz, no," Killian answered as he removed a small leather pouch from his longcoat and continued on towards the grand hearth along the wall of the Great Hall.

"If Hogwarts is in possession of Professor Snape's home," Harry pointed out, "it's likely sealed off or protected by some form of charm. Waltzing or not, I don't think you're going to be able to simply walk through the door."

"I agree," Killian confirmed as he stepped into the hearth amidst the charcoaled remains of numerous logs, reached into the small leather pouch, and removed a handful of Flue Powder. He then tossed the pouch to Altimus before casting the powder at his feet. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

In a flash of flames, Killian was gone. Hermione, Harry, and Draco were left stunned as they stared into the empty hearth. Altimus then grabbed a handful of Flue Powder before passing the pouch to Wraith.

"Did he just say …" Hermione started, but fell short of completing her query.

"Yep," Altimus answered anyway as he stepped in to the hearth and followed after Killian.

. . .

In one of the back rooms of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Hermione, Harry, and Draco shook the soot from their clothes and joined Wraith and Altimus, smelling of burnt wood and ash. Hermione recognized the area immediately. It was the room where Killian had been laid up on a makeshift bed after their experience at Saarla Manor during her sixth year. The oddly placed hearth along the wall was a newer addition since then, but otherwise, it remained more or less the same.

The door opened and George entered with Killian, carrying a large black leather case.

"Do I even want to know why you need to get in there?" he asked of Killian, then paused. "Oh, you're all here then," he went on with a glance around the room.

"George!" Hermione snipped. "You've attached your store to Hogwarts?"

"Via flue, yeah," George answered proudly. "A few years back. Been great for business."

"Has this been registered with the Ministry?" Hermione went on accusingly.

"Um … Yeah, working on that, of course," George said dodgingly. "Lots of paperwork and all. Filings and such."

"George," Killian spoke up, cutting off Hermione's attempt to pursue her inquiries about the legality of George's unregistered pathway into Hogwarts. "Your items?" he went on with a nod towards the black case.

"Right," George said, seemingly eager to change the subject away from the Flue Network. "Got everything here."

"And they'll work?" Killian asked on.

"Without actually knowing exactly what it is you need, I'd say probably," George answered. "Just missed Ron, by the way," he said to Hermione. "Out meeting with a supplier in Finsbury."

"Oh," Hermione said, thrown off by the comment. "That's good … For business, I mean."

"I'm … uh … sure he'll be sad to have missed you," George offered with the same sympathetic, albeit awkwardly sympathetic coming from George, expression Hermione had seen on the faces of so many individuals in recent years.

Was there anyone who did not know? Were the personal and marital issues within her life an open book set on display? It made her feel so small at times, although she knew it should not. Even so, it was not a sensation that could be helped or eased. No one is made of stone. Worse still, Hermione felt a sense of relief that Ron had gone off on an errand. Whilst being there with Killian would certainly have made for an uncomfortable situation, she could not honestly say that had Killian not been present her feelings would have been any different.

"So," George went on, clearing his throat as he set his case on a shelf, unfastened the clasps, and opened the lid. "Why don't we have a look, shall we?"

Inside were a variety of vials, pouches, and odd-looking devices.

"What is all this?" Harry asked as he eyed the contents quizzically.

"New products," George answered proudly.

"Doesn't look much like joke shop material," Draco said as he examined a strange contraption with several small, thin blades and hooks protruding from its center.

"I've been looking into other ventures," George explained. "Expanding my horizons and such."

"Expanding into what?" Hermione asked.

"You know," George said with an evasive shrug. "Things."

"Veritaserum?" Draco asked, reading the label of one of the vials.

"That's for the screening process," George said with a wink. "Have to make sure that any clients of said wares are not of ill repute or intentions. Always err on the side of caution, I say."

"George," Hermione persisted. "Expanding into _what_?"

"Off we go then," George dodged again as he closed up his case.

"You're coming along?" Harry asked.

"Don't think you'd manage well without me," George explained. "Complicated stuff, this is."

With a snap, George Disapperated. Without a word, Killian, Altimus, and Wraith did the same.

"I suppose we should follow after them," Harry said with a tone echoing Hermione's sense that she had lost complete control of the situation.

"Lovely," Draco groaned. "No chance this is going to go wrong."

. . .

In a flash, the trio Apparated to Spinner's End and met up with George and the Triad just down the road from the house of Snape. The street, unfortunately, was not as deserted as they would have hoped. To the contrary, the area was pocked with individuals prowling in the shadows beneath the broken lamps and congregating alongside desolate buildings and street corners.

As casually as possible, they made their way to the entrance of Snape's former home.

" _Alohomora_!" Hermione cast with an inconspicuous flick of her wand.

Nothing happened. Harry twisted the knob, but the door was remained locked tight.

"Brilliant," Draco scoffed at Harry. "Weren't you the one who pointed out that we wouldn't be just walking right in."

"Still worth trying," Harry said as he stepped back and examined the door.

"Oddly ornate for such a poor area," Wraith offered.

Hermione could not disagree. It appeared to be solid mahogany, caved with vine-like designs along its edges. More suited for a church entrance than a personal domicile, regardless of the area.

George set down his case, opened the lid, and removed the same contraption that Draco was examining back at the joke shop.

"Step aside, if you will," he said as he placed the device alongside the door's keyhole.

The device hovered before the door, swirling around as several of the blades and hooks protruded and recessed within its core. After a few seconds, the device stopped. A single blade and hook entered the keyhole, twisted, turned, and unlocked the door. George then replaced the objected within his case, closed it up, and pushed the door open.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, eyeing the area to be sure that no one was watching.

"A Dingle Key," George answered proudly. "Guaranteed to pick any lock, charmed or otherwise."

"Nice work, brother," Altimus said with a hearty pat to George's back as he passed through the doorway.

"Yes, nice work indeed," Harry agreed with a smile as he followed.

Draco and Wraith entered with George, leaving Hermione and Killian outside. She looked to Killian, who merely cocked his head and gestured for her to enter first.

"Am I the only one who recognizes how dangerous an item like that can be?" Hermione asked.

"Dangerous or beneficial," Killian answered. "It all depends on the possessor."

"My point exactly," Hermione said as she entered with a sigh, Killian following close behind.

Inside, the house was small and cramped. Even so, everywhere one looked, there was evidence of Severus Snape. There were Dark Arts and Potions books on the shelves, an almost throne-esque reading chair set aside a table with several pillar candles, dozens of statues and knick-knacks lining the mantle, and a series of paintings and portraits adorning the walls.

"All right, so everything wasn't nicked," Draco admitted as he glanced about.

"This is going to be impossible," Harry said dejectedly. "We don't even know what we're looking for. Where do we even start?"

"I don't suppose you have anything in that little black case for this, do you?" Draco asked of George.

"As a matter of fact, I believe I do," George answered. He went into his case and removed one of the vials. "I got this idea from Muggles actually," he explained. "Dad was telling me that they have these people called _forensics_. Or maybe he said they practice forensics," he thought aloud. "Either way, they spray this liquid over an area, turn on a fancy dark light, and it makes blood glow."

"Really?" Draco asked. "And why would they want to do that?"

"It can help in their criminal cases," Harry answered. "Matching DNA with suspects and such."

"Matching DNA?" Draco scoffed. "Muggles are so primitive. There are a dozen charms more effective in identifying individuals."

"True as that may be," Harry conceded with a grin, "Muggles aren't exactly privy to them."

"No, but they're pretty clever though," George said. "This fluid they use can detect blood even if someone tried to clean it up. So, I started to think, what if I could make something like that?" He opened the vial and removed his wand. With a quick flick, the liquid turned into vapor that permeated the room. In a few moments, the mist dissipated. "Only my version wouldn't find blood that someone was trying to clean up or hide," he went on with another flick of his wand. An orb appeared, simultaneously casting the room into darkness while emanating a radiant purple light that slowly caused various items in the area to glow a bright white. "Mine would show hidden magic."

"Remind me to invest in this new branch of your company," Draco offered as he admired the glowing objects.

Hermione looked around the room. Slowly, more and more objects began to glow. Several items on shelves, two of the candles on the table, dozens of books, and so on. Even Killian's staff and Wraith's bow were glowing because their wands were hidden inside. After a few moments, it appeared more items in the room were glowing than were not.

"This is all well and good," Hermione said. "But it doesn't particularly narrow things down. Nearly everything in this room appears to possess some form of hidden magic."

"Didn't quite expect that," George agreed. "Area rug isn't glowing though," he quickly added with a gesture to the floor beneath. "Cross that off the list, yeah?"

"Great, so it's not the area rug," Draco said. "Not a lot a of help there. This is impossible," he went on. "It could take days, even weeks to sort through all of—"

"It's here," came Harry's voice from the far side of the room. He was staring at a white glow near the baseboards of the wall.

With another flick of George's wand, the orb disappeared and the room returned to normal. Harry was standing before a large painting. It stretched nearly floor to ceiling and portrayed a path winding through the trees, over a stone bridge, and disappearing in the darkness beyond.

"What is it?" Hermione asked as she joined Harry.

Killian walked over and ran his fingers across the painting. "It doesn't seem out of the ordinary. Just oil and canvas. Are you certain?"

Harry pointed at a grouping of flora alongside the path at the bottom of the painting where the white glow had emanated. "The flowers," he explained. "They're lilies."


	24. Chapter 24 - Crimson Midnight

_So this post is a few days late. You know, because I am on such a consistent and dependable schedule *cough* with my posts. At any rate, I needed to rework a portion of it, so this time it was not entirely out of laziness._

 _Before I move on, however, I wanted to address Ijahman Nyahbinghi Rizzla, if I may. You had asked a few questions and I tried to answer but it appears that PM responses are blocked for your profile. So, I'll cover them here._

 _Answer #1 - I don't want to say much, but I will say I cannot imagine Hermione would have gotten rid of that shirt._

 _Answer #2 - I would say Killian has not exactly sorted himself out just yet. Not entirely anyways. But he currently lives beyond the Veil._

 _Answer #3 - I normally would not go into spoilers here, but I want to make it known that Ron is definitely not having an affair. I didn't want to go that route in making him out to be a bad person. He really isn't. Ron and Hermione's relationship and interactions with each other are more about two people who simple are not compatible, but realized it too late and are now at a point where they do not know how to move forward._

 _Answer #4 - Can't go into too much about this one. But in short, I agree. Not just about the children, but overall. The death of Killian's family drastically changed who he could have been and would have been. Little bit of a life lesson there. Every experience in your life leads down the path towards who you will become. Wow, I suddenly feel all philosophical._

 _Alas, I digress. Back to your regularly scheduled program ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Twenty-four -_

 _Crimson Midnight_

It was a beautiful painting. A tranquil scene of nature near sunset. Beyond the trees, where the path disappeared beyond a bend in the background, the sun was setting, creating a vibrant blend of red and amber against the approaching night.

Hermione looked at the bronze plate tacked to the frame. "Crimson Midnight," she read aloud.

"I'm telling you," Harry assured. "This is it. The lilies … It's not a coincidence."

Hermione could not have agreed more. It was no coincidence. Snape's love for Harry's mother was well known … Lily. Her death led to Snape's renouncement of Lord Voldemort and his decision to turn spy for Dumbledore. Harry was right. The lilies in the painting were a sign, an eternal memory in honor of the death Professor Snape carried upon his soul until his very last breath.

"What is it?" Draco asked as he felt along the frame. "A door?" He pulled the frame slightly away from the wall. "There's nothing behind it."

Killian raised his staff to the painting.

" _Ostendo_ ," he whispered.

Nothing.

Everyone looked to George.

"Sorry," he apologized humbly. "I can find your charmed items, but he could have used anything to seal them. It would be impossible to decipher it without a little help."

Hermione examined the painting, eyeing the details stained upon the canvas. Her eyes then fell upon the cluster of flora that had first drawn Harry to the painting. She reached into her pocket and grasped the dried flower she and Killian had retrieved from the Potions closet. Carefully removing the flower, she held it up and compared it to the painting, finding a single lily to be an exact match.

 _Could it really be that simple_? she thought.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as Hermione bent down and held the flower before its twin.

"I'm not sure," she answered.

The flower in her hand pulled from her grasp and hovered by its oil and canvas companion. Slowly, it melded with the painting and vanished within the brushstrokes. As it did, the painting rippled like a millpond disrupted by a skipping stone. When the canvas settled once more, Killian reached out to touch it, only to find his hand fall clear through.

"The Eye lay at the end of the turn," Killian said to himself as he traced his finger up the path and around the bend through the woods.

"Riddles within riddles," Draco said.

"Looks like you were wrong then, eh Draco," Altimus said with a laugh. "It's here after all."

"First," Draco pointed out, "Jacques would have been wrong, not me. Second," he went on, "Jacques was right. The Eye isn't located on either side of the Veil. It's through there,' he concluded with a gesture towards Crimson Midnight. "And I don't think that counts."

"So, we'll find the Eye in there?" Harry asked.

"I would assume it to be beyond the path," Killian answered.

"Seems simple enough," Draco said. "Any volunteers?"

Killian began to step through the painting when Hermione grabbed him by the arm.

"You are not going in there," she protested.

"Am I not?" Killian asked.

"No," Hermione protested further before relinquishing both her grip and tone. "Not alone. You don't know what's through there." She paused and collected herself. "We're going with you."

"We?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Hermione asserted. "We're with the Ministry. It's our duty."

"I don't recall 'stepping through charmed paintings that lead to who knows where' being bulleted anywhere in the job description," Draco went on.

"It would have been covered under _miscellaneous_ ," Harry teased.

"Yeah?" Draco continued. "And what happens if we step on through and we can't come back?"

"He actually makes a good point," Harry agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Best we don't all go."

Killian looked the other members of the Triad. "Would you mind sitting this one out?" he asked.

"We got your back, brother," Altimus assured while Wraith offered a simple nod.

"I think I might hang on back as well if you don't mind," George offered. "My appreciation of art is more from afar than any form of interactive behavior, if you get my meaning."

So it was set. Wraith and Altimus stood by the door while George perused Snape's library of books and collections. Killian slowly stepped though and disappeared within the painting. Harry looked to Hermione, then to Altimus.

"If we don't come back," he said with a coy grin, "avenge our deaths, yeah?"

"Of course," Altimus said with a laugh.

"Yeah, that's funny," Draco scoffed as he followed Harry through the painting.

With a deep breath, Hermione did the same.

Once through, the scene of oil on canvas lost its blurs of brushstrokes and emerged as clear and serene as reality itself. Hermione turned back toward the gateway they had just crossed and saw it as a painting of the room in Snape's home, hovering weightlessly in the air.

"Amazing," she said to herself.

"Snape was brilliant," Harry said, overhearing Hermione's utterance. "No one could ever deny that?"

Hermione thought the comment amusing, as it was not so terribly long ago that Harry would have been first and foremost on the list of individuals who would have denied Snape's brilliance. Not for any sense of truth in that belief, of course. More so out of spite. Viewpoints had certainly evolved over the years.

Together, the group ventured down the path, over the bridge, and through the trees beyond. There, they were met with a towering wall of granite, hundreds of feet in height with a narrow opening that made way for the path to carry on. In the distance beyond, there was a hill. At its top, stood an oddly placed wooded door affixed to no walls.

Obstructing their way, within the narrow pass, was a grid of marble tiles reminiscent of a chessboard. However, these tiles were imprinted with random images of various animals, settings, flowers, and symbols.

"Have we enjoyed our little walk?" came a chillingly familiar voice.

Professor Snape appeared from behind a fallen tree aside the path. Not the Snape they had all known from their years at Hogwarts. This was a younger Snape, much like in the memory Dumbledore kept in his hidden room behind the bookshelf, yet somehow different.

"P-Professor?" Draco muttered in disbelief.

Snape approached, looking down his nose at Draco. "Pale skin, blonde hair … I imagine you must be a Malfoy. I can see Lucius' air of self-importance in the arrogance of your eyes."

"Yes," Draco answered, looking far less than arrogant at the moment. "Draco Malfoy. Lucius is my father."

"And you," Snape went on, glaring at Harry whist parting the hair from his forehead to reveal his now faded scar. "There can be no doubt. James and Lily's infamous offspring … Harry Potter. And accompanied by a Malfoy …" his voice tapered off as he moved on to Killian and Hermione.

"Of you, however," he drawled as he glanced between the two of them, "I'm afraid I am not familiar."

Killian's jaw tensed. It was subtle, but noticeable.

"My lack of recognition pains you," Snape went on, narrowing his eyes at Killian. "What is your name?"

"Finn," Killian answered. "Killian Finn."

"Ah, yes," Snape drawled. "I do seem to recall a Finn family. Foreign, yes?"

"Beyond the Veil," Killian said, much to Snape's surprise.

"Am I to assume we are all privy, then?" he asked.

"It's old news," Draco answered.

"I see," Snape pondered aloud as he readdressed Killian. "Former pupil?" he asked.

"In a manner of sorts," Killian conceded.

"Indeed," Snape said, again narrowing his eyes before moving his attention on to Hermione. "Which still leaves you."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said before Snape could pose the question himself.

"Neither name nor face hold meaning to me," Snape dismissed.

"She's a Mud—" Draco began, but caught himself. "A Muggle."

Snape folded his hands behind his back and paced before the group. "Such a motley crew stands before me. A Pure-Blood, a Mud-Blood, The Boy Who Lived, and a former student."

"Technically, we're all former students of yours," Harry corrected.

"So it appears," Snape agreed, eyeing each of them. "And where, might I inquire, am I? Or am I to assume I merely sent you in my stead."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the group.

"You were unable to accompany us," Harry finally answered. "We learned of this place from the clues you left."

"Clues?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes further. "Why is it I did not simply divulge the information?"

"We received the clues from your portrait," Killian answered.

Snape paused, then turned away and looked to the ground. "My portrait," he said solemnly. "I see." He walked a few steps away, placing his hand on his head, before turning back to the group. "Pity," he went on, waving off what nearly amounted to emotion. "Had I been here, I would have been able to show you the way."

Hermione stepped forward. "What do you mean?"

Snape grinned condescendingly. "You do not believe you can simply walk up that hill, do you?"

"The grid is a trap," Killian deduced.

"Your deductive skills border on brilliance," Snape commended with blatant sarcasm.

"Professor," Harry pled, "if you know a way, you must tell us."

Snape laughed as he, again, paced back and forth before them. "That would be impossible. I am merely an invention, created for a purpose."

"And what purpose is that?" Harry pressed.

"Not to guide you," Snape snipped, turning his nose in the air. "Of that you can be certain."

"Lord Gaius Mideus has returned," Draco spoke up. "He has sent his disciples in search of the Eye. They are already in possession of the Spiorad Druma."

The news appeared to strike a chord in the younger version of the former Potions master. He turned away again, rubbing his chin, his eyes dancing around with no noticeable focus.

"That is undoubtedly troubling," Snape conceded. "It would seem likely they would eventually trace the Eye back to me, thus leading them here."

"Exactly," Hermione spoke up. "That is why we need to gain control of the Eye."

"Because your intentions are noble?" Snape asked rhetorically.

"Of course," Hermione answered just the same.

"How often the noble are broken," he mused aloud. "Only to themselves become the monsters they seek to thwart." He walked back to the fallen tree and sat. "However noble your quest may be, I am still unable to help any further. If, as you say, I have already given you the clues, you should have little trouble finding the way on your own. But mind your step."

Having realized there was nothing further to gain, Hermione approached the grid that lay before them and examined the marble tiles, struggling to find meaning.

"Clearly there is a path across," Killian said.

"He said to mind our step," Draco offered as he, too, studying the tiles.

"What if we don't step on it at all?" Harry suggested.

"Well, we can't scale the wall," Hermione reasoned. "And it's too far to jump."

Draco flicked his wand and Harry soon hovered several feet off the ground.

"Very clever," Harry complained.

"I thought so," Draco said with a smug grin.

Harry appeared unamused as hung in the air and slowly drifted over the marble tiles at the direction of Draco's wand. It seemed at first glance that the plan was going along smoothly until Harry reached the halfway mark. Several bolts of energy streamed from the granite walls, blasting Harry from the air before he collided with the ground, his body covering several tiles at once. As he staggered painfully to his feet, the earth began to rumble with violent fury.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked of Snape.

"You have failed," Snape answered simply from his vantage on the fallen log.

As Snape watched on, a horde of stone warriors emerged from the walls as if leaping from water. Their bodies, like their source, were solid granite, and they carried with them weapons of blunt force.

At once, the warriors leapt into action, attacking those whom had violated the path and scattering them in every direction. Hermione fired several blasts from her wand, only to find them ineffective. It was clear the warrior's stone bodies would require more explosive magic than her usual stuns and jinxes.

Near Snape, Killian ducked under one warrior's club, which found its mark in the other's head, tearing it from his stony shoulders. The now headless warrior swung its ax, missing Killian by a hair and lodging itself into Snape's fallen tree. Taking advantage, Killian blasted the warrior's arm clean off before sending another charge directly into its chest and shattering it into a thousand pieces. From there, Killian focused on the remaining foe.

Draco and Harry fought near the tiles, sending out wave after wave of volatile magic, creating mounds of debris in its wake. After Hermione dispatched of a few of her own, she joined them as the horde continued to push forward.

A resounding explosion sounded near the area where she had last seen Killian, followed by a rain of gravel sized stones. A moment later, Killian, having carved through the line, joined them in their stand. Now together, they cut through the remaining granite warriors with relative ease. Moments later, the area fell silent once again, with nothing but the heaving sounds of their gasps for breath filling the air.

They had escaped relatively unscathed. A few bumps, bruises, and minor lacerations from granite shrapnel accounted for most of the injuries. It could have been far worse.

"Bloody brilliant plan that was," Harry said grimly as he plopped down on the grass beside the path and brushed the stone and dust from his clothes.

"How was I to know?" Draco defended with a shrug.

There was not much else he could say. His plan clearly had not worked out as he had anticipated. Although, Hermione believed she could make out the hint of a grin in Draco's expression. After all, not only had Harry been blasted from the air, Harry was thoroughly annoyed, as well. For Draco, that was certainly a positive outcome.

"I would be more wary next time," Snape offered. "I daresay you will not survive a second failure."

Killian approached the tiles and stared at the images carved within.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked as she came up aside him.

"All hell broke loose when Harry fell on these tiles," Killian answered as his eyes continued to dance across the images.

"He fell on them randomly," Hermione surmised.

"So there must be a pattern," Killian suggested.

Hermione now scanned the tiles, searching for anything even resembling a pattern, but finding nothing of note.

"It looks completely unconnected," Hermione said.

Killian was now pacing, biting his lip as he massaged his temple. "If we have already been given the clues," he thought aloud, reiterating Snape's words, "we should have little trouble finding the way on our own."

"What?" Hermione asked, cocking her head.

"What are grains before they have been milled into flour?" Killian asked in return.

"What are what?" Hermione asked on, perplexed by the question.

Killian took a step and landed on one of the tiles. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat as an overwhelming sense of panic drowned out the sounds of Harry and Draco's shocked response to Killian's actions.

Killian, however, simply looked at Hermione and grinned. "Unrefined," he said.

Hermione looked at the tile and saw an image of a man standing before a miller's wheel with stalks of grain in his hand.

"And foul," Killian continued as he took another step, landing on a tile with the image of a duckling.

"Are you insane?" Draco shouted. "Do you want another band of granite hernhocks swinging for our heads?"

Hermione could barely breath. Her heart drummed in her chest. Killian had been right about the first two tiles. But was it luck? Odds were against it. Even so, the thought of Killian taking another step filled her with a sense of unrestricted fear.

Regardless, Killian looked to do just that, lifting his foot and leaning towards his next destination.

"Killian stop!" Hermione shouted.

His foot hovering over a tile, Killian obliged and looked to Hermione.

"Just stop," Hermione went on in far more collected tone. "Let's … Let's just take a moment to think this through."

"I agree," Harry said. "We need to be smart about this."

Snape walked over and leaned against the stone wall aside the tiles. "Such doubt," he drawled. "How amusing."

As much as she hated to admit it, Hermione could not disagree. She certainly doubted herself at the moment. She did not know why. Perhaps it was potential consequence of being wrong. In truth, the cause was irrelevant. The doubt was there and hung over her like a storm cloud ready to burst.

"Where were you going to step next?" Harry asked, ignoring Snape's comment about their collective anxiety.

"There is a tile marked with an eye," Killian answered.

"And?" Harry asked on.

"The Eye lay at the end of the turn," Killian answered.

"No need to interpret much there," Draco said. "An eye is an eye."

"Remind me how well your last brilliant deduction played out?" Harry asked with a touch of scorn.

"Careful, Potter," Draco snapped back, "or I'll toss you over again."

As Hermione tried to calm the former and oft present rivals, Killian took the step he had initiated previously. Hermione spun on him, her wits at an end.

"Dammit Killian!" she shouted in exasperation. "Stop moving!"

Reluctantly, Killian again obliged with Hermione's command, albeit this time whilst glancing around at the walls. Hermione, Harry, and Draco did the same, each holding their breath as they awaited any potential sign of trouble. None came.

"See?" Draco said, albeit not with a great deal of confidence. "All's well. What's next?"

"The end?" Hermione answered with as much confidence as Draco had displayed.

"The end?" Draco questioned. "What kind of bloody image is that?"

"Death?" Harry pondered aloud. "Is there an image of a skull and crossbones?"

"None that I see," Killian answered as he scanned the tiles about him. "Nor any other image along those lines."

Draco pointed to a tile three rows beyond Killian. "What's that one?"

"It looks like …" Killian began, tilting his head as he examined the tile, " … some form of fence. Or a gate, perhaps."

"A fence can mark a boundary line, can't it?" Draco theorized. "The end of a particular piece of property."

"Good enough," Killian said before anyone could argue, and quickly stepped to the tile.

Hermione wanted to scream with frustration. Killian's actions were nothing short of maddening. However, realizing it would be to little effect at this point, she stifled it away with clenched fists and gritted teeth.

Once they all realized they were not being assaulted by stony monoliths, Killian looked back with a raised eyebrow. "One more," he said. "I can only assume it must be _the turn_."

Harry leaned in, straining his eyes. Draco and Hermione did the same.

"I can hardly make out the tiles from here," Harry called to Killian. "What do you see?"

Killian looked around. "Nothing that particularly rings of a turn or a spin," he answered. "A star, a square, three parallel lines. Random animals … a bear, an ox, a fish. A man leaning over a board of some sort. A half dozen or so symbols, astrological perhaps."

"Know of any star signs that symbolize the end?" Harry asked of Hermione.

"I may be able to simply jump from here," Killian suggested. "It's not much furth—"

"No!" Hermione chastised. "Don't move! You saw what happened the last time we tried to cut a corner!" She then pressed her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes in contemplation. "The man leaning over the board," she went on. "What is he doing?"

"Leaning over a board," Killian answered.

"That's it?" Hermione asked. "Nothing else?"

Killian again tilted his head, this time squinting his eyes as he looked for further detail. "He appears to have something in his hand," he said. "A tool, perhaps."

Harry leaned over to Hermione. "Sanding?" he offered.

"Or lathing," Hermione offered in return. "He's a woodturner."

"A what?" Draco and Killian asked in unison.

"A woodturner," Hermione repeated. "They use a lathe to shape wooden objects." Her explanation was met with blank stares from the pair of Slytherins. "It's a Muggle thing," she explained with a sigh before turning to Snape. "And something you would have known about, being a Half-blood yourself."

"Are you certain?" Snape asked coolly. "You wear such apprehension in your eyes."

Hermione looked to Killian. He was awaiting an answer. Could the woodturner be the turn? It was very close, but it was not exact. Then again, Spinners End was not exactly the end of the turn. Further still, Harry could be right. Perhaps one of the signs or symbols Killian had mentioned were representative of the end. Or perhaps it was something far more cryptic.

"That's it," Hermione said at last. "The woodturner."

"Are you certain?" Killian asked.

It was the very same question Professor Snape had asked only seconds before. But in direct contrast to old Potions master's cutting and dismissive tone, Killian voice was even and soothing to Hermione's ears, calming her anxieties as she wrestled with the options fighting in out in her head.

"Yes," Hermione answered hesitantly. "I think …"

"You think?" Draco asked.

"Maybe," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, this is brilliant," Draco went on.

Killian seemed to ignore Draco's remark, his eyes meeting with Hermione's as if she were the only other person present.

"Yes?" he asked simply.

Hermione did not answer. She could not. Nor did she have to do so. Killian had his answer, whether she verbalized it to him or not.

"Off we go."

Without hesitation, Killian stepped onto the tile and awaited judgment. Harry cringed. Draco looked away. Hermione and Snape, however, could not take their eyes off Killian. After a few moments, when nothing happened, a collective sigh of relief emanated from the area.

"You are quite gifted," Snape reluctantly offered to Hermione, who was holding her hands to her mouth and taking deep, calming breaths. He then turned to Killian. "And you are quite reckless. As odd a partnership as Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. However … Well played."

"Reckless?" Draco said with grin and gesture towards Killian. "He's a mindless bloody git! No go on and get that Eye so we can get out of here!"

Killian took the final step that landed him on the path beyond the tiles. The moment he cleared the puzzle, the ground began to rumble once more. This time, however, no granite guardians erupted from the walls. Instead, the walls themselves began to shift, swiftly drawing the narrow gap together.

"No!" Hermione cried.

Without thought, she quickly danced across the same path Killian had just completed, barely breeching the other side before Killian pulled her clear of the walls as they collided with a deafening impact.

"Are you mad?" Killian asked.

Hermione straightened up in Killian's arms and looked back to where the tiles had been.

"It sealed up," she said. "You don't think Harry or Draco—"

"They're safe," Killian assured. "They were not foolish enough to leap between collapsing walls." He then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You could have been killed."

Hermione again looked to the stone wall that now separated them from their companions, before turning back to Killian.

"I wasn't," she said, forcing a smile.

Killian looked as though he wanted to say something more, but no words came of it. Instead, he reached up and grasped the same disobedient lock of Hermione's hair that still so often fell in her eyes and gently tucked back behind her ear.

"I see," Snape drawled with disapproval, seeming to appear from nowhere. "How easily the gifted become reckless themselves when the situation suits the senses."

"How will we get back?" Hermione asked of Killian, disregarding Snape's remark entirely.

"That will be a bridge to cross once we get there," Killian answered.

Together, they made their way up the hill towards the oddly placed door. When they arrived upon it, it appeared stranger still. It was simply a door. Nothing more, nothing less. And it did not seem to have a purpose beyond standing upright atop a hill in a strange painting with deadly traps.

Even so, Hermione reached for the knob, turned it, and the door swung open. As it did, the area around them melted away and they found themselves once again standing in the doorway to Snape's home on Spinners End.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not certain," Killian answered.

"I don't understand," Hermione went on. "Where is the Eye?"

"Also not certain," Killian answered as he stepped inside and looked about.

Hermione followed, noticing that the house was eerily quiet.

"George?" she called out to no return. "Where is everyone?"

Killian raised his hand to quite Hermione and then pointed off towards the room where they had left George, Altimus, and Wraith when they entered the painting. The distinct sounds of a crackling fire emanated from the area and tell-tale shadows of flames danced along the wall.

Upon entering the area, however, they were not greeted by the trio they had left behind in the pursuit of the Eye of Infinitio. Instead, they found Professor Snape sitting quietly in his throne-esque chair, intently reading from one of the many books within his reach.

"Professor?" Hermione called to him cautiously.

Snape looked up from his book and glanced between Hermione and Killian before gesturing towards a pair of chairs set across from his own.

"Would you care to talk?" he offered.


End file.
